Newly Renovated
by GratefulInsomniac
Summary: House doesn't show up for work. Cuddy knows where he is. Begins after Simple Explanation (After Kutner's death). A Season 5 story.
1. Weight

_A/N-I'm continuing my attempt to write a story from each Season. This fic is Season 5. Season 5 was often somber, and there's definitely a contrast in tone between my early Season fics and this one. As some of you know, I'm not much for writing angst, however, this one is more serious than "Reversing." This will also be a short story, I'm guessing somewhere between 6-10 chapters._

_-Begins after Simple Explanation (After Kutner's death)-All episodes after that are disregarded. The story begins 3 weeks after Kutner's funeral._

**Disclaimer-I don't own the characters of House, MD. This story will include adult content and themes.**

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-Weight-

When Wilson timidly peaked through her office door shortly after eleven that morning, Cuddy knew instantly that something was wrong with House. No one had seen him. The team tried calling, Wilson went to House's apartment, and checked a third shifter's bar near House's place, but he was nowhere to be found. Cuddy nodded calmly and assured Wilson that she would take care of it. Wilson envisioned her going back to House's apartment or driving around aimlessly, perhaps calling drunk tanks or other hospitals. Wilson had no idea that she already knew where House was.

That morning after yoga and feeding Rachel, she stood in her kitchen, burping the child while she rocked back and forth between her feet, staring at the newspaper on the kitchen counter. She paused on the classifieds because she had to shift Rachel from one shoulder to the other, and when her eyes returned to the paper, they went right to an ad for an apartment: _GREAT LOCATION-PLAINSBORO, 1 BR, modern with exposed brick & hardwood._ Her eyes flowed over the remainder of the advertisement, which included a price, a phone number and an address that seemed familiar. When she heard House was missing, it seemed obvious that he went back to Kutner's old apartment to search for any remaining answers before a new tenant could sign a lease. Pleased that she had tucked the newspaper under her arm before leaving for work that morning, she plucked it out of her wastepaper basket and removed the single sheet of classified ads that she needed. She traced the address with her finger for a second before folding the paper down to a smaller size and hurrying out the door.

Kutner was in some ways similar to House, reckless, creative in his pursuit of answers, but for some reason, happier. But then again, just a few weeks earlier, she was at Kutner's funeral, a death brought about by the man's own hand. She thought that maybe House should have attended Kutner's funeral, should have allowed himself time to acknowledge the death formally. It would have been a place to grieve, a place to seek and offer solace, a place to accept a death and move on with life. Then again, grieving, receiving comfort and accepting loss did not really seem like House at all, and the funeral did not seem to bring any comfort or reassurance to anyone else on the team.

It was Friday, she had already arranged to leave early, and after work, she actually had some time to herself. Her mother was watching Rachel, and Cuddy just wanted some quiet and a drink…or four. There was not much harm in one evening of indulgence. She had been busy, acclimating herself to life as a mother, acclimating the child to a new home and, strange as it seemed, acclimating House to a new world where she actually had a life outside of work.

But she was not taking time for herself, she was driving to find him, driving to where she knew he would be instead of finishing her day peacefully before she went home for a bottle of wine or even out for a nice, quiet, over-priced dinner with a book. Not that long ago, he was kissing her, then she thought he hated her, then, much to her surprise, he was flirting with her again. He was infuriating, playing games she didn't understand and truthfully didn't even want to play, but yet, there she was again, repeatedly sucked back into whatever he was doing, and much to her irritation, sometimes even liking it. Worse off, she was playing the games too. Part of her rational mind observed this, reminding her of the insanity that she was not only around, but actively involved in, even at some points provoking. No matter what her rational mind said, she was engaging in these behaviors.

Wilson warned her that House was just pulling her pigtails. She acknowledged her part though, realizing that if he was pulling her pigtails, she was putting worms in his shoes. Their attraction, their back and forth, now involved fourth grade attempts at denial of affection to further complicate a relationships that was nothing but complicated.

She did not think he would react well to their relationship post-kiss, but she did not expect how derisively he would act toward her. When he rejected her advances, it hurt in ways she refused to admit. Feeling not only rejected by him, but like he was actually repulsed by her. Then, out of the blue it seemed, he was joking and playful, watching her in ways that made her skin prickle with excitement and orchestrating the delivery of a complicated gift. She sometimes wished that she could hate him, it would make things so much easier. She didn't hate him at all. She desperately clung to the deep, protective barriers they'd built to be impenetrable, and yet he consistently proved that they were not. He stepped right over the barrier, proving to her that he could, and when she tried to tiptoe over it to meet him, he defended the wall like a battle-ready army of one. As soon as she withdrew her attempt to approach the wall, he was back to sneaking over it again.

One of the things that frustrated her the most was the fact that she knew she would not walk away. After everything that happened, after finding a child, after years of mutually complicated interactions, after night upon night of warning herself to just 'let it go and move on,' she could not. She started to wonder if anything could prevent her from caring about him, even though they never really allowed each other to show it. She tried to remember if they ever had a _real_ conversation that wasn't about medicine, and then she began to wonder if it was even possible. House guarded himself perpetually from threats from the outside, but then she was capable of protecting herself as well. They did have a real conversation for a moment, one over tears of loss, and a burst of anger that built up to a climactic moment that could have been _something _and then turned out to be something worse than nothing. He was there for her at an exact moment when she needed him and then gone. She started to wonder if things could have been different if she had opened up when she tried to adopt before, if she would have gone to him instead of Wilson, or him and Wilson, but she did not. What if she had honestly invited him to be part of Rachel's life, tried to make him part of her life outside of the hospital? Had such an offer been made, she doubted he would have accepted. In the end, that was not the choice she had made, she had chosen to guard herself and her daughter. It was the safer option.

They were marbles, teetering on either end of a see-saw, clinging to the far ends because if one caved too much, they were sure to roll off. The only option that didn't involve falling off was moving toward the center together, and that was an impossibility.

She found Kutner's place easily, silencing the thoughts in her head about the two of them. She looked up Kutner's address when she saw that he had died, curious about where he was living, and wondering why a doctor, living in a decent area, making good money in a job that he seemed to like would want to die. She wondered what secrets could have possibly haunted him, or losses could have plagued him, and just as she found the right city block, she saw House's goddamn car. The sight of it filled her with a combination of feelings: happiness at the realization that she did actually know him; relief that he was not lost in an unknown location; worry at the thought of dealing with whatever would come from their meeting; fear and nausea that perhaps she would find something inside Kutner's apartment that would destroy her. As dysfunctional as they were, she could not imagine a life without House.

She wondered, as she got out of her car, exactly what he needed from that place. Cuddy walked through the outer door of the apartment, it was unlocked, and she felt a chill in the air that was so cold, she wasn't sure if it was psychological or real. As she drew closer to the door, she saw that it was slightly ajar and peered through the opening as best as she could.

The place smelled like fresh paint and polyurethane, and as she walked in, her heels echoed in the cavernously empty and newly renovated apartment. There was nothing left of Kutner there anymore except House, sitting on the floor next to his cane, slumped forward a bit, his back to her. For a split second, she worried that maybe House went there and decided he was done living his life as well. Suicide had always seemed a frighteningly plausible option for House in her mind.

His head lifted a bit and he mumbled through a garbled voice, "I'll be done playing soon, Mommy. I'll go home and go straight to bed."

Her head shook with a startle as she said in a softly shocked and disarmed voice, "You know it's me?"

She saw his shoulders slump with a sigh, "Of course it's you. Who else would it be?"

"Wilson? Cameron? Your team? They care about you."

"They don't care that much, and they don't go everywhere in five-inch heels."

"You shouldn't be in here."

"Kutner's not complaining."

"House," she said as she stepped closer and then paused to look toward the bedroom where she had heard Kutner's body had been found. "Are you alright?"

"Do you think…people know when they're going crazy?" he asked, his chin still tucked to his chest.

"Are we talking about Kutner?"

"If that's more comfortable for you."

"I don't want to feel comfortable, I want the truth. You know that."

"Do I? I don't think you really want that."

"Were you talking about Kutner…or you?" she took two, cautious steps closer, fearing that he may lash out or run away, but with his leg and his obvious weariness, she knew he could not get away too quickly.

House looked over to the wall, and she wondered how much of his disconnected behavior was emotional and how much of it was drug induced. Dropping his head, he finally answered, "Probably both."

"Why do you think you're going crazy?" She asked, taking another tentative step closer to him. They were only about a foot apart.

He turned to her, looking up from the floor, and his expression was an odd combination of shock and relief. She thought maybe part of him wasn't sure if she was really there until he looked at her. Then the look of relief evolved into sadness, he was drinking her in with his eyes, not in the admiring, sexual way he sometimes did, but like he was seeking reassurance through realizing her reality, recognizing that he was not entirely alone, at least for a few minutes. "I _know_ I'm going crazy. I'm losing it," he said softly. "I shouldn't tell you that, should I?"

His look was one of exhausted devastation, his eyes red, his body so tired it almost looked broken, it was certainly weak. "I don't care what you tell me," she answered, "As long as it's the truth."

"Which…is a lie," he answered, looking away.

"No, it isn't."

"It is. You know it's possible I'll say something to hurt you. Something mean about that helpless little girl you're mothering, something insightfully accurate about you that you wish wasn't true."

"You've been hurting me for years," she observed. "I'm one of your favorite punching bags."

"You do it to me too, just in different ways. I'm more direct," he said quickly, then his shoulders sank lower. "Sorry," he whispered, looking away, but seeming remarkably repentant, saying a word that he rarely said.

His apology terrified her, she wanted to return it like it had never been offered. It was the type of thing that felt too much like a way of making peace before saying goodbye. "It's just what I expect from you. I wasn't looking for an apology."

"If you were looking for it, I wouldn't have offered one."

"So what is the truth, House?"

"Depends on who I'm telling."

"Me. It's just me."

"Is it you…or Dr. Cuddy, Dean of Medicine?"

"Like it or not, we're one in the same," she said, with a look of concern and suspicion.

"Then I'm not going to tell you anything."

"Fine," she answered roughly, "I'll call Wilson. You can't be alone."

"Pawning me off on Wilson already? I'm not telling him anything either. Telling Wilson is worse than telling you."

"How's that?"

"Because he'll go to you anyway, and tell you that I shouldn't be practicing medicine. And you'll take steps to make it happen. If I tell you directly, there's a chance that you'll be self-righteous enough to think that you could actually help me. You'll offer me options…which will buy me time."

"If I'm _self-righteous_ enough to think that? Offering help is now an indication of self-righteousness? Can't it be an attempt to help you…to help an employee…a colleague?"

"At least you didn't try to pretend it's a personal interest."

"What does that mean?" she asked, hurt and confused.

"It means that I know what your interest in my health is. Part of it's guilt…always has been. Most of it is an interest in keeping the most notable thing at your hospital around to ensure your future financial success."

"How can you think that after…" she shook her head slowly, "forget it. Just forget it. If I do offer you options… maybe one of the options will actually help you."

House huffed, "They'll be crappy options. I don't want your options, I just want the time I can buy if you think I'm taking one of the options, so I can figure something better out."

"You're really showing your hand."

"Which brings us back to my original point…I'm losing my mind."

"How much Vicodin have you taken?"

"I'm well through my daily bottle," he said as he reached into his jacket pocket and took out his Vicodin. He took one pill, dry swallowed it and added, "Thanks for reminding me. Sometimes the constant pain I feel isn't reminder enough."

She smiled, sadly, a look of pity on her face that he refused to acknowledge. "How much?" she asked with a forcefully stern but sympathetic tone.

He looked over, slowly, thoughtfully, then answered, "If I were to die...and you ran a tox screen…you would assume it was a suicide."

"Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"A suicide."

He breathed, his inhalation moving his entire upper body. "No. It isn't."

"I'm…relieved to hear that," she answered as she knelt on the floor, tucked her feet under her and then sat on them. Her knees were only an inch or two away from him.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I knew you'd be here."

"Why would _you_ want to be in a place where I am?"

"Because I know you aren't dealing with this well. And, honestly, you haven't been completely yourself since...the bus crash. I thought you were OK for a minute, but now, since Kutner's death, it's been obvious, amplified. You are _not_ OK."

"Why do you think he did it?"

"I don't know," Cuddy said, shaking her head. The dejected, empty look on House's face did not provide her with confirmation that he wasn't suicidal, it raised her fears. "Why do _you_ think he did it?"

"Because…the weight of the reasons to die outweighed the weight of the reasons to live. It's simple math."

"Do yours? Do your…reasons to die outweigh your reasons to live?"

"We're talking about Kutner," House deflected.

She could see she was too close. "Kutner's already gone. You're still here. I can't help Kutner. I can help you."

"You can't help me," he said with resignation but not cruelty.

"You haven't let me try."

"Because you haven't tried."

"Bullshit, House," Cuddy said, feeling unmistakable irritation.

"You better run off, little administrator."

"What the hell is that? I'm not the one who…runs away from things."

"You sure? You positive about that?" House asked, more confrontationally, sneering a bit at the end of each question.

"You're…trying to push me into an argument because you're scared to let me help you. You're scared things could be better, that maybe someday you could be happy."

"There's no point in asking you again," he grumbled.

"No point in asking me what?" she responded, dropping her head to the side, waiting for whatever was to come.

"Why do you care that I'm here? Why do you care if I'm happy?"

Her face grew more stoic. "I didn't run from that conversation. You did."

"You ran from it by deflecting, and you just did it again. So you were in the room, but you left the conversation. You wanted to look like you weren't running…but you were."

"You ran from it by running from the room. There's no continuation of a conversation if the other person is _literally_ gone."

"You try so hard to _look_ like you're doing the right thing, rather than just _doing_ the right thing."

"Is that why I'm here?" she asked, still sitting on the ground, but bracing her hands on her knees to help her stand if she needed to get away. Realizing that she was preparing herself to flee, and not wanting to offer him proof that she was prepared to run, she quickly moved her hands. "You think I'm here because it looks like the right thing? Exactly who am I trying to impress?"

He stared for a few minutes, lips tight as he thought. "Maybe me…maybe your conscience. So if something happens, you can claim that you tried. Or maybe you aren't trying to impress anyone. That's why I don't understand what you're doing here. It doesn't make sense. I don't get what you have to gain."

"Pal, how long does it take to decide? Do you want the place or not?" an angry and slightly worried voice came from the door.

House didn't answer. Cuddy turned, a man, maybe a landlord or a super, was standing behind them, his hand in a pocket that she thought probably contained pepper spray.

"We're leaving," Cuddy responded, standing and walking over to the man to ease the situation.

She explained that they were grieving friends and they were getting ready to leave.

The man crossed his arms, "So you don't want the place? After all of this time, you don't even want it?"

"No, we just wanted to say goodbye," Cuddy replied softly, hoping for understanding.

"I'm trying to show an apartment, not do grief counseling. I'll wait right here 'til you go. You have 2 minutes, then I call the cops."

Cuddy crouched down next to House, "We have to go."

He did not respond. She wasn't sure if he didn't care, maybe he _wanted _to be arrested, but he was not budging.

"I'd rather stay," he said calmly.

"You are going to be arrested."

"I'm…not even sure if I can drive. I'll let them take me down and let me wait it out. Sleep it off without actually sleeping."

Cuddy was horrified, aghast, confused, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

He turned slowly to face her and leaned closer, they were surprisingly near. "I told you, I'm losing my mind."

Cuddy put a hand on his shoulder, he didn't look at her hand or her, he didn't even react badly to the touch, which took her by surprise. "They'll confiscate your Vicodin. Dose it out themselves _after_ they find someone to confirm that you really need it. Could take hours."

He looked over at her, nervousness in his eyes, and she could see that she got through to him.

"I'll drive you home," Cuddy offered quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to pick you up from prison later on."

"I'll get Wilson or a cab. I'll pawn myself off on him for you, so you don't even have to be bothered with that," he said as he reached for his cell phone.

"I've had it with this, now you're pissing me off. Stand up," she said firmly. She stood, towering over him and waiting for him to yell, to fight back, to finally push like he was supposed to, like he always did. She immediately missed him. "Maybe I'm the one losing my mind," she said softly.

He looked at her, he seemed to know that she was addressing the concerns in her head. Then he got up, slowly, painfully trying to separate his tall body from the ground and dropping his cane once he was upright. He struggled a bit, refusing the hand that she offered him, but accepting the cane when she lifted it from the ground.

There were steps to leave the building that almost seemed to add insult to injury, and when he got to the bottom, she thought he might fall over on the spot. After he steadied himself, he began walking to his car. She wondered how he could feel anything through all of the narcotics he had likely taken, yet he could still feel the pain. His leg seemed to ache as badly as his mind, the drugs were numbing him, probably killing him, but they did little for the pain. He pulled his keys from his pocket. "Oh, hell no," she yelled. "You just told me that you can't drive. Don't get in that car."

"Don't you have a baby that you can go smother? She's probably much more obedient than I am."

"Cuter and sweeter too," Cuddy said as she grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward her car.

"Apparently you didn't understand," he sneered down at her, "Go control the infant you bought to make it all better."

"Fuck you," she mumbled as she continued to direct his body.

If he wasn't so drugged and unsteady, she wasn't even certain that she could have moved him.

"God…you're an idiot," he said as he leaned against her car while she opened the door, "I'm trying to get you to leave me alone."

"I know that, but I'm not going to let you kill some kid who's out for a walk…or yourself. I'm taking you home." She waited while he got in the car, pushing his legs the remainder of the way in and slamming the door shut. When she got in on the driver's side, she continued, "I'm not trying to be your best friend, you already have one, so drop the attempts to push me away, House. I just want to take you home and I'll leave."

He shifted down in the seat with acquiescence and she was torn between a desire to help and her drive for self-protection. The trip to his apartment was brief. He was left in his thoughts, both irritated and comforted that she was there, that she was helping him. His head was disconnected, so tired that he felt like he had to translate the words that were spoken in his native language. All he felt was dizziness and pain, and then he heard the voice that had been with him for four days.

Glancing in the side mirror of the car, he caught a sneering reflection, "Seriously? We let her boss us around at work, and now we aren't even at work and she's telling us what to do?"

The face leaned between the two front seats, hovering between House and Cuddy. The figure from the back seat stared at Cuddy, almost touching her as she continued to drive, completely unaware of the leering presence next to her. Then he turned to House, smirking. The hallucination was House himself, or an exaggerated shadow of a more confident self. The man in the back seat that Cuddy did not see or hear, was the House of his youth. A strong man, cocky, and brilliant. "What do you think she would do?" young House asked his sickly, tired, older self. "What would she do if she knew? Would she run screaming in horror? Maybe she'd smile sympathetically, tell us she's really flattered and then sneak away to call Wilson so he could deal with us. Are you going to tell her?"

Older House, the House of reality, shook his head.

"Are you OK?" Cuddy asked.

"I'm fine," House answered, scowling momentarily at his hallucination.

Young House leaned forward, "Better quit dicking around. I can practically hear time running out," he said tauntingly, "we're getting old…fast. And now she's got a kid. She's just sitting around, waiting for the perfect daddy and then we're really fucked. Time is not on our side."

House dropped his head back on the headrest, pressing the heels of his hands tightly against his eyes and hoping that the imagined young man behind him would soon disappear.

"So, are you going to tell her? It might be fun. Since she's a mommy, she's probably looking for an insane, crippled drug addict to care for too," young House continued. "Come on…tell her…tell her about how we _feel_. She'll enjoy it, it'll be good for a laugh." The hallucination waited for a moment, hoping to provoke a response. "We both know she deserves better."

"Go away," House snapped.

He turned and the hallucination of his younger self was gone.

"I didn't even say anything. Even when I'm driving you home you have to be an ass," Cuddy retorted.

"Not you," House mumbled, leaning his forehead on his hand.

"Then who?" she asked as she parked in front of his apartment. She was angry, ready to tell him what a jerk he was being when she was trying to help him, ready to lash out with all of the anger she'd been harboring for weeks, and then she saw the defeated and tired look that he wore like a pall over his entire being. Sitting sideways in the driver's seat, facing him, Cuddy asked calmly, "Would you please talk to me? Tell me what's going on."


	2. Protection

_A/N-Thanks to everyone who followed and favorited this story and to all of you who left a review: IHeartHouseCuddy, lenasti16, Boo's House, aussiefan12, Tori, IWuvHouse, Guest, Babaloo Blue, jaybe61, LapizSilkwood, Little Greg, housebound, ikissedtheLaurie, chebelle, JLCH, JM, BJAllen815, givemekevinbacon, OldSFfan, KiwiClare, harpomarx, iridescentZEN, Suzieqlondon, ClareBear14, dmarchl21, Ana anamq, huddy you are mine, freeasabird14, Fran, siddigfan, HuddyGirl, Alex and LiaHuddy. *One other note for House-Cuddy fans: I don't do FB, but for people who are interested, check out the WeWannaWatchThunderRoadtrip page.  
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_-Protection-  
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_Cuddy asked calmly, "Would you please talk to me? Tell me what's going on."_

"I already told you. I'm tired and I'm in pain," House answered after a prolonged silence, opening the door and lifting his right leg carefully from the car.

Cuddy quickly exited the vehicle and rounded it, trying to make sure that he did not fall. She helped him out of the car, his size was uncomfortable and unwieldy, and his limbs seemed to serve little function except to support some of the weight of him while she directed his forward motion. Before they even reached the steps, he had difficulty continuing. "What did you take, House?" she pressed.

"Umm…it might have been Vicodin…let me read the label."

"What _else_ did you take?"

"I haven't been sleeping."

She was growing exhausted under the sheer weight of him as she helped him up the stairs. "You took sleeping pills?"

"I'm fine, Cuddy, I'm on the upswing."

"I can see that," she said sarcastically as they crossed into the hallway outside of his apartment.

Nodding toward the door, she held out her hand for the keys. His one arm was still draped over her shoulders for support. Had he not been so tired, he would have pulled his arm away, but in the middle of so much pain and heaviness, her delicate and warm body actually felt good next to him. He was far too tired to fight the one thing that was keeping him from collapsing in the hallway, which was also the only thing in his reality that felt pleasant at that moment.

When she unlocked the door, she gestured for him to walk through, and when he didn't respond, she looked at his face. She expected him to be scowling or grimacing, somehow showing his disapproval for her nearness. She paused, trying to decipher the look that certainly was not disapproving. All she could see in his eyes was pain and disorientation, and something that almost looked like appreciation. Even once he noticed that she was looking at him, he didn't pull away. She thought about saying something, anything at all, but had no idea what she wanted to say.

Slipping his keys into his jacket pocket, she reached her newly freed hand up to hold onto his arm, the one that was over her shoulder, and her voice crackled as she suggested, "Come on, we should go inside."

House dropped his head, nodded and the two went in together. She leaned him against his sofa and watched while he practically slid around it and dropped down.

"Get back up, I'm taking you to the hospital," she stated certainly, "you're worse than I thought."

"No," he shook his head, "I'm sick of being in that fish bowl. As soon as the sleeping pills wear off, I'll be fine."

"A different hospital then."

"Just a different fish bowl."

"You need to rest…sleep…be monitored. You need to get help."

Cuddy inspected the apartment to look for evidence of anything else he might have taken. The place was a mess. No one considered House a neat freak, but his place was never this dirty in her previous visits. There were dishes piled in the sink and his refrigerator was almost entirely empty. She found drained bottles of booze on the counters and an overflowing ashtray. She came across generic sleeping pills, some cold remedies, several empty Vicodin bottles and started to wonder how he was still breathing. She hoped that he hadn't had all of those things at once, but she had little way of knowing which things were taken in what combinations or when.

"You can't be alone when you're this disoriented, and I don't know how much you've taken," she said as she walked into the living room and placed a few of the medications on the coffee table. "Which did you take today?"

"Visiting nurse will be here in an hour, she'll look in on me. Leave with a clear conscious," he said after looking at his watch.

In the next breath, his head tipped back and she knew he was sleeping or perhaps he passed out. She watched him for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. She had suspected over the previous few weeks that he was worse than he let on, but she had no idea things were as bad as what she was seeing.

She started doing dishes, dutifully cleaning up, and then surrendered. This was his mess, she cleaned up his messes at the hospital, but she wasn't going to clean them up in his home. She stomped out from the kitchen to the sofa, but when she found him, she could not prevent the rising feeling of compassion. She walked around the sofa, lifting his feet, shoes and all, up onto the furniture. It was no easy task, he was so unconscious that it was like lifting dead weight. She got a pillow from his room and negotiated him down so his head was on it.

"I'm so fucking stupid," she said into the air, wondering if she should just call an ambulance or Wilson, but then feeling guilty because she knew he did not want either of those two things. She also did not want to relax her vigilance and have the man die. As she watched him, she worried, wondering which combination of chemicals was coursing through his body. He didn't move at all so she approached, sat on the edge of the coffee table and reached over to find his pulse. It was there, slow but steady. She jumped when there was a loud knock on the door, withdrawing her hand as if touching him was some sort of sin that she would be punished for if caught.

Opening the door, she saw a woman in front of her, realizing that he was not entirely joking about visiting nurses. Cuddy nodded at the hooker, "He's a bit under the weather, he'll have to reschedule."

The prostitute looked past Cuddy, "When isn't he under the weather?"

"When did he call you?" Cuddy asked.

"Standing appointment."

"I'm sorry, you came here for nothing," Cuddy said, "he doesn't need you today."

"You the wife or the girlfriend?" the hooker asked, propping a knowing hand on her hip.

"Neither. He's unconscious."

"I'm here, I want to get paid. Just ask him, he always pays whether or not I-"

"Really, I don't want to know," Cuddy held up a hand.

"Wake him up and ask him."

Cuddy looked over at the sofa, trying to figure out if she could get to his wallet but not wanting to wake him, and finally going for her purse. "How much?"

"I want forty."

"Forty…just for showing up?"

The hooker looked her over, "I'll throw something in for ya if you're interested. Forty's a good deal for what I can do. Wake him up and I'll cut you a deal for the both of you."

Cuddy shook her head subtly but for longer than necessary, "I'll be fine. Here's sixty, and cancel the standing appointment. Don't come back unless he calls again."

"I'll be here next time."

"Eighty then, that's double, to not come back," Cuddy said.

The hooker looked at the money, "Fine. Ten minutes after you're gone he'll be calling to reschedule."

"That's his business," Cuddy said, reaching out even farther with the cash.

"You're willing to pay eighty to stop me from coming back and you aren't the wife or the girlfriend?"

"I'm just a friend," Cuddy answered more sadly than she expected.

"A _friend_ who's spending eighty dollars to make sure he doesn't sleep with another woman?"

Cuddy nodded, "Take your eighty, and don't come back unless he calls you."

"Call me," the hooker shouted into the room.

Cuddy smiled stiffly at the woman, shutting the door.

"You just paid a hooker," House said without moving.

"You're up already?" she asked.

"I heard the door. If I could have reached my phone, I would have gotten a picture of you paying her…I'd never do an hour of clinic duty again."

"How are you feeling?" she asked House while she walked around to the front of the sofa.

"How in the hell does it look like I'm feeling?" he said through a weak voice.

"Is this what you want?" Cuddy questioned, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, ignoring his previous answer.

"What? A hooker?" he asked, his forearm flung over his eyes.

"All of it. Hookers, sleeping pills and Vicodin. You can't work like this, not like you are right now. This can't be…all you want from your life. It's hard to even find you in there anymore," she added aloud. It was supposed to be silent, typical internal dialogue, but he heard it.

He pulled his arm down from his face, it brushed her leg and he jerked back, looking with contempt at where her bare knee jutted out from her skirt.

Cuddy breathed out an angry laugh.

"What?" he responded.

"Nothing," she answered snidely, shaking her head.

"No, what? Tell me. Tell me what happened now that has you feeling so superior?"

"I don't feel superior."

"I can feel you looking down at me with that laugh."

"It's hard to believe," she said angrily, "that you'll have sex with a hooker but you're horrified by my fucking knee. That's what."

"You sent the hooker away, I was scared you were offering to take her place," he stared, managing a scowl that lacked its usual strength.

"I get that you don't like me, and believe me, you have made that perfectly clear. I wasn't making you any offers, I just don't understand what it is about me that repulses you _so_ much."

She stood, walking toward the door, and he heard the voice again, "I was hoping she'd go. We can call the hooker back if you want. Then be left alone. We like being alone anyway. I don't like that look you were getting…like you want to snuggle. That's not us. She's ruining us." House's hallucination said as he came into sight.

The hallucination looked like House in his youth, healthy and strong, but he was an exaggerated self, the embodiment of things people thought they saw in him, the worst of what he thought of himself, a cruel and cold combination of traits all centered in one, angry, sardonic vision. The voice of doubt, resentment, self-loathing and distrust packaged in a body that House had known at one time. It was the voice in his head that so often trapped him.

House's younger self was standing over her, looking down her shirt, "She does have a few nice…features. It's too bad you'd get all attached because I remember what she felt like."

House was glaring unhappily while Cuddy watched him with a baffled look. She had no idea what he was looking at as he stared off to her side with a look of disgust. The hallucination stayed close to Cuddy but turned and looked at House, "You're turning into such a weak little fucker, aren't you?"

"Stop," House retorted, more loudly and forcefully than Cuddy had heard him say anything since she found him at Kutner's.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Don't go," he said clearly, looking toward the window, regretting the words of rejection he had flung at her a few moments earlier.

"I'm not going," she answered, so stunned that she almost failed to respond. "Someone needs to stay with you. I'm going to my car, I'll be back."

Cuddy took her keys, leaving the apartment with the door propped open so she could easily return.

"This is stupid," House's younger self said after a few moments, leaning on the wall by the door. "She just feels guilty. Tell her to leave. She'll ruin everything."

"I'm not listening to you. You aren't real," House replied.

"I am…believe me. Without me, you'd be nothing. Sort of like you are now…sick, helpless, lost. You don't even have your brains anymore…Fucking pathetic."

"I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"Because we're completely out of our gourd. I mean we've seen some crazy fucking people, haven't we? Pretty soon she'll figure out just how nuts we are, and she'll have us locked up."

"Once I get some sleep you'll be done."

"What?" Cuddy asked as she came through the door with a gym bag, the hallucination disappearing when the door swung open into the place where House saw it moments earlier.

"I didn't think you were coming back," House sighed.

"I told you I was coming back," Cuddy answered with irritation, still frustrated from their earlier conversation, walking toward the kitchen.

He reached over the back of his sofa, grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, letting go as soon as he had her attention. House looked down, feeling like he had to do something extreme because it was possible that she was the only thing between him and complete madness. "You don't repulse me, you never have. I just feel like shit right now."

"Hard to tell the difference from my end."

"I know," he answered softly.

"Where did you go? Are you still in there?"

"This is the same me…since the infarction, this is me."

"No," she shook her head, "it isn't. A year…two or three years ago…this was not you."

"Maybe you weren't looking."

"I was looking. Your behavior is scaring the shit out of me in one moment, and then you are trying to piss me off and push me away in the next."

"Then go," he responded, instantly feeling the cold ache at the thought.

"Not right now…your condition."

"You shouldn't stay if I'm scaring the shit out of you," he countered.

"_You _aren't, but your current condition is. Your current health is scaring the shit out of me. This…is not good."

"I'll be fine."

"There has to be more for you. More to your life than this."

"There isn't."

"There is!"

He huffed, "You want me to quit Vicodin, Cuddy? Didn't we try this before and it got really ugly?"

"Because we went about it all wrong."

"There is no right way."

"Maybe there is."

"There isn't," he barked.

"Maybe there is," she stood over him, yelling down over his prone form. "What have you tried?"

"Plenty," he retorted roughly, sitting up.

She was getting ready to yell and she saw him slink back down into the pillow. She didn't have the heart to scream at him, it would have been like kicking a puppy. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy. She sat down on the edge of the sofa while he looked at her suspiciously. She reached up to his neck, feeling his pulse, "You don't look good," she said softly.

There was no need to check his pulse, it was an excuse to touch him that she thought he might accept, she could think of no other way to offer comfort.

"I know," he answered.

Her fingers lingered on his neck too long, her thumb eventually brushing the coarse skin under his jaw as the heel of her hand rested momentarily on the upper part of his chest. When she pulled back, the tips of her fingers tapped his chest before she removed her hand.

"So you're sleeping in short bursts like that. A few minutes here and there?" she asked, sounding clinical and professional.

He nodded, "An hour…maybe two when I'm really lucky."

"No wonder you don't feel good. You need to sleep. You're also mixing too much."

He started to sigh, "Because I can't sleep _and_ my leg hurts _and_-"

"OK," she answered quickly. "If I can come up with something for you to try, will you try it?"

"I'm not going to fucking rehab."

"I didn't say that. If I can come up with something, will you try?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let me dose you. I control the meds. I come up with a plan that does not include trying to detox while you're working…our bet was a mistake."

"I know how to control my dosages better than you," House answered.

"I can see that," she said, looking down at the coffee table and a small sampling of the meds she'd found.

"It's called tolerance," he answered.

"I know. I want to pull you back. Start weaning you off."

"That doesn't work."

"So you're already unwilling to try?"

"No," he sighed. "I don't want to be in pain."

"I know," she said, her look somber.

He nodded, closing his eyes and covering them with his arm again.

"House, no wonder you can't sleep. This place needs cleaned so you can feel comfortable. Your body needs…reset, you need to let go, your meds need regulated, you need food," she suggested.

"You think I can't sleep because my dishes are in the sink and I'm hungry? Wow, this is sure to succeed."

"See…still not even trying. I just meant it's hard to sleep if you aren't really comfortable and you can't be comfortable here."

"Fine," he removed his arm, "what do you suggest?"

"We can go to my place."

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"Don't you have someone smaller and needier to mother."

"I don't know if she's actually needier," Cuddy said, trying but failing to lighten the mood.

"Your baby pukes on me. And she cries. I'm not in the mood for either, I'll be puking on myself soon enough."

"Give her a chance."

"You've moved on. There's no need for me to give her a chance."

"If I've moved on, why am I here, now, with you?"

"I dunno."

"You think I'm so narrow? So limited? You think that I can't have space for her and you?" Cuddy asked.

"I don't know if you ever had space for me."

"No, House, you are the one without room for me. I tried…I put myself out there, and you slammed the door so fucking hard I can still feel it closing in my face."

"You made it perfectly clear that you wanted a kid and I wasn't part of that. You chose Wilson…leaned on him, went to him, trusted him. And then you chose a kid. You made your choices. Two of them. I was left behind both times."

"When there was a chance between us, you ran. You fled so quickly…so rapidly…to make sure that you didn't feel…feel…," Cuddy looked away, suddenly lost in thought.

"What?" House asked, wondering what it was that she just realized, because he could read an epiphany in her eyes.

"Rapidly," Cuddy nodded, standing and pacing in front of the coffee table. "Rapid detox."

"Rapid detox?"

"Yes," she answered, looking satisfied with her idea, "we admit you, put you under sedation…two hours, the right meds, an opiate receptor antagonist like naltrexone. Then we bring you out…the physical part of the detox is mostly gone. There are some risks, mostly associated with the anesthesia, but you've been under plenty of times before. We'll have to watch you for a few days, then we just have to worry about the rest. About pain management, any…psycho-emotional aspects of addiction."

"I'm not a junkie."

"I didn't say that. If part of what stops you is that you want to avoid the pain of detox…this will address that one concern. We'll figure out how to address one thing at a time. That addresses the physical dependence and then we can see where you are after that."

"Under whose care? Yours?"

"Yea, mine. Unless you want someone else. I know with the surgery…your infarction, you may want to choose someone else. Is that what you're implying?"

"No," House stared up the ceiling, "I'm just tired, Cuddy. So tired. I don't know how many other ways to say it."

"I know. I can see that."

"Everything hurts…everything. No matter what I do. It's all I feel."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open, the honesty in his voice was painful to hear because it was as if his soul was laid bare in front of her. She sat back down on the sofa, on the edge, her hip pushed against his side. This time he didn't recoil like he had when he brushed her knee, the warmth of her felt reassuring.

"You're on all of these painkillers…enough to sedate several people, probably," Cuddy began as he nodded, looking at her, his eyes ringed with dampness, "but with all of the opiates pumping through you…you still feel pain."

He nodded. "It hurts. I keep upping dosages and I can't keep going like this."

"I want you to believe me," Cuddy whispered, "to believe that I want to help you. I want to stop this for you…for me too, but I don't want to get hurt any more than you do. I'm tired of it too. Every second I'm with you, I'm prepared for the moment when everything that feels like potential or progress becomes something horrible, something that hurts. I don't want to get burned this time."

She reached one hand forward with the most extreme caution, letting her palm come to rest where his stomach met the center of his ribs. She avoided his gaze, although he stared at her, intensely, questioningly, and she finally looked up. Her own eyes were touched with tears, filled with concern and a preparedness for rejection. They each allowed the crossing of a barrier, a dangerous barrier. They each stood their ground in that moment, waiting to feel the full impact of a hurtful although self-protective rejection from the other.

When he stared at her, still tiredly, spirit broken, she spread her fingers more widely, and flashed a brief, nervous smile. He did not return her smile, but his eyes softened. In response she moved her thumb, gently stroking over his ribs, tentatively stepping over the figurative wall between them. He had a quick look of terror, a moment of question in his mind, a question that required a decision: to reject or to allow.

"Want me to get the cleaver?" House heard loudly from behind Cuddy. His id-like hallucination standing directly behind her, screaming at him. "Might as well hack off our balls and hand them to her, carve out our heart too. You really think you can trust her? You really think she's not going to _destroy_ us the first moment she can? If she doesn't, do you really think we won't do it to her? Walk away while you can…before we get really hurt."

"It's too late. I already really hurt," House answered.

"I know, House," Cuddy answered, unaware that he was not addressing her, "but it's not too late."

"Tell her…to get the fuck away. She's like a succubus," his hallucination hissed.

House's eyes squinted tightly, so tightly, that Cuddy thought he was having a spasm. "Your leg?" she asked. "Is it your leg? Want me to rub it…get you a heating pad…something?"

"Don't touch it," he said, his voice cracking.

"Sorry," she replied, withdrawing her hand from his chest and bringing it close to her body, the hurt obvious in her from his rejection because she was offering in-kind openness and vulnerability.

"That's better," his hallucination jeered, still behind her, "now tell her, to go the fuck away. Tell her now. Protect us. Tell her now."

She started to stand and House grabbed her wrist again, "Sit down," he asked more than ordered, "stay here. Don't listen to him."

"Who?" Cuddy asked, her eyes darting swiftly to the door.

House shook his head, trying to smile, to play it off, his face almost cracking at the attempt to show a reassuring expression. "Me. Don't listen to me. My leg's fine, I'm just exhausted and drugged up."

"OK," she answered warily.

The next move was his, he knew that. He knew he did not want her to leave. Moving her wrist, he still had not let go of it, he placed it on his chest at the exact place where it was before she pulled back from him. He nodded, his fingers pressing her forearm into his chest with more strength than what she thought he had left. She met his gaze and he nodded, before closing his eyes and waiting. Again she spread her fingers, slowly letting them ripple up over his ribs toward the center of his chest. One small corner of his mouth turned up when her thumb began to move comfortingly again.

"Want to go to your bed, I'll help you? You can sleep, and when you wake up, we'll figure everything out," she offered.

"I'm fine here," he answered.

Cuddy stood up, "I'll be right back."

She took the thick blanket from on top of his bed and brought it to the living room. While she covered him, he pointed to the sleeping pills, "Can I have that?" he asked.

"I don't know if it's safe."

"It's safe," he nodded. "Let me have it, and I'll do the rapid detox…but not at the hospital."

"OK," she nodded with hope.

"I'll find you a doctor who-"

"You," he interrupted, "I want you for my doctor."

"If you're sure," she nodded, "I'll set it up."

"What about Rachel?" he asked.

"I'll figure it out," she replied, leaving for a glass of water in the kitchen that she brought back. She handed him the pills and the water. Sitting back down in her spot next to him again, returning her hand willingly to his chest, she smiled, "This case…the puzzle is mine. I will figure it out. You just have to let me."

She placed the glass back on the table and his tiredness consumed him entirely. "Just go to sleep, House. Nothing will fall apart while you sleep," Cuddy calmly encouraged.

He peeked behind her, looking for his hallucination, but not finding it. She saw the worry, the concern, the unraveling of one of the strongest people she had ever known, and could not think of what to say to assure him. She boldly spoke the truth. "You hide your pain, day after day. Try to look impervious to everything around you and no one can go on like that forever. Not even you."

She slid closer on the sofa, closer to his upper body and reached to the side of his head. When her fingertips touched his temple, he looked tentative, not angry but certainly not comfortable. She ran her fingers from his temple, over his ear and into his hair, calmly soothing the last remaining thoughts that he should avoid sleep.

"What's that supposed to do?" his hallucinated self complained from somewhere in the room, "does she think we're her kid? That we need coddled and pacified."

Cuddy watched while his eyes began to lose focus and his eyelids involuntarily shut, not in the harsh pinching way that she had seen them close moments earlier, but a gentle meeting of lids that could no longer stay open. He pulled one arm out from under the covers and reached over her to the coffee table, his arm across her lap. He waited for a sign of disapproval from her, and when he did not find one, he moved his hand closer, finally allowing it to come to rest along her side. The contact was casual, but for him a bold display of affection. His hand tightened on her side for a second and he managed to say, "Thanks, Cuddy," before he began deep breaths that were nearly snores, heavy, long and completely unconscious.

She continued to push his hair back over his ear for a few minutes until his head tilted to the side and she knew that he was entirely asleep and likely would not wake for a while. She was practically shell-shocked at the sight of House so completely surrendered. She wished she felt a sense of satisfaction, that she could feel happy that he trusted her so much, enough to sleep, enough to consider her suggestion for detox, but satisfaction was the last thing she felt as she weighed the possibilities. He agreed, he put his belief in her and now she had to find a way to try. She needed a place that would allow her to serve as his physician, would allow her to administer the rapid detox cocktail while he was under anesthesia.

Cuddy called Wilson, and over the phone she set up a leave for herself, the remainder of the maternity leave that she sacrificed when she returned to work early after she took custody of Rachel. Wilson asked numerous questions, but she would only say that House was fine and they both needed some time off. She called board members while House slept, arranging to have Wilson left in charge, a prospect that seemed reasonable since House would not be working under his friend's watch. She also arranged a leave for House, and put many pieces carefully in place.

When House woke, he saw Cuddy, sitting on the floor, wearing what looked like exercise clothes and working on his laptop. "What time is it?" he asked as he watched her jump.

"Hey," she said, turning quickly. "Umm," she stared at the clock on the computer, "a little after midnight. You actually slept."

"Yea," he said, painfully lifting up his body with his arms. His brain was clearer, but his pain was still there. He reached over to the Vicodin on the table and out of the corner of his eye saw the hallucination of himself.

"You slept through her changing her clothes," House's hallucination complained, "and I can't see what you can't see."

Cuddy watched the worry cross his face again, "Are you OK? You don't feel better?"

"I do," he nodded, shaking his pills, "a lot better, but too many hours without these."

"OK," she answered, unconvinced.

"So," he asked, "Did you figure out somewhere to do the rapid detox?"

There were no other options, he knew what he had really known all along, his days of popping Vicodin were likely at an end if he wanted to retain his sanity. "Coward," his hallucination shouted, standing up from the lounge.

She nodded, "We go Monday."

"We? So you're still going to do it?" House asked.

"Yes, I said I would. You and I…and Rachel."

"Maybe she can wipe puke off of us and the rat at the same time," the hallucination sneered.

"Hardly a good place for a kid," House told her.

"I have it worked out. You both need me, I have a friend who will help me. She's been asking to spend time with Rachel anyway. I can't just leave my baby behind. This is one of those things I just won't bend on…she's my daughter.

House didn't answer, his younger self sneering, "You're considering this…you really are? I hate you, I hate this cowardice and compliance."

"What kind of mother…what kind of human being would I be if I just pushed her aside. I love her too," Cuddy said, looking up at him from the floor nearby.

He wrinkled his brow, trying to decide if Cuddy meant that she loved Rachel in addition to someone else, or if she meant that she felt both love and duty toward the child.

"Oh, don't kid yourself," the hallucination jeered, "she does _not_ love us. Who would?"

"Are you're going to do it?" Cuddy asked, not allowing him any additional time to think.

House shook his pills, nodding, "I want to keep my Vicodin for the weekend."

"OK," she acceded.

"Then I'll do it."


	3. Questions

_A/N-thank you to everyone who is checking out this story, and to all who reviewed since last chapter: freeasabird14, IHeartHouseCuddy, Boo's House, Anon, KiwiClare, BabalooBlue, JLCH, jaybe61, LoveMyHouse, JM, housebound, lenasti16, LapizSilkwood, chebelle, ikissedtheLaurie, dmarchl21, bonnieyy77, huddy you are mine, LiaHuddy, jkarr, BJAllen815, givemekevinbacon, Suzieqlondon, Huddyphoric, Mon Fogel, Fran, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, itzaboo and the guests._

_My home is like an infirmary right now. I wanted to get this out yesterday, but it didn't happen. This is as much as I could get edited in the time I had, but I wanted to put out an update. I'll have something up by Tuesday, I can't promise any sooner, but I'll try._

* * *

-Questions-

House was more functional after sleep but his hallucination did not disappear as he had hoped it would. It was painfully clear that it was not tiredness and exhaustion that was causing the hallucinations, it was the Vicodin. With his increased alertness, he was better able avoid answering the angry voice that was plaguing him. He was still taking a steady supply of Vicodin, although less than he had been taking only a day or two earlier. Cuddy did nothing to fight him on his use of the narcotic. Since House was willing to try rapid detox, she wanted him to be as comfortable as he could be until that time.

They were somewhat tentative with each other during the early hours of the next morning. Cuddy was concerned with House's pain and overall weariness. House was too exhausted to fight the draw he felt toward Cuddy and the understanding that she seemed to offer. The more House's hallucination seemed threatened by the way Cuddy helped him to sleep and offered to help him find solutions to break free of his dependence on Vicodin, the more House believed it was actually what was best for him. His hallucination was sounding jealous and threatened, and it seemed to follow that taking the advice of such a voice was a mistake.

They cleaned up the things in his apartment that really needed their attention, things that might fester, rot or otherwise make his return after detox unpleasant. While House soaked in the tub, he listened as his hallucination tried to undermine his journey toward something different. His younger self questioned his ability to survive without Vicodin, his abilities as a doctor, even his humanity, but House didn't respond, choosing instead to study the vision. He wanted to hear what it said, and began questioning just how much this angry man had been part of him all along, constantly undermining his confidence and feeding the sense of self-loathing and distrust that simmered beneath a confident exterior. Just as House was leaving the bathroom, his younger self sneered, "We will never be any better. Nothing changes, so do what you want, bide your time because the ending is always the same. We'll always end up alone and in pain…try if you want, all the more you'll be disappointed."

In the kitchen, Cuddy was on the phone and he watched while she poured water into the reservoir of the coffee pot. All of the years he and Cuddy had been around each other, seeing her making coffee in his kitchen, wearing the clothes she usually exercised in looked very strange. She ended the call, slid her phone into her pants pocket and jumped when House said, "You're making coffee at four am?"

"Hey," she said, a little shaky with surprise as she clicked on the coffee pot, "the options here are coffee or booze."

"Good point. You call a lot of people before sunrise?"

"Work. Just work."

"What did that jackass House do now?" he joked.

She smiled at him, walking past where he stood to go to the bedroom, "He actually didn't do anything. The third shift charge nurse had some questions about the chain of command while I'm gone."

"You're really leaving your hospital?" he asked, limping slowly after her.

"Yea, I told you I'm going with you."

"Why?"

Cuddy walked over to him, concerned again, "Are you experiencing memory loss?" she asked, directing him to sit on the edge of the bed while she looked at his eyes to assess his condition.

"No," he shook his head, "I mean _why_ are you doing it? You hate leaving your hospital."

"I'll have time with Rachel, and I can get away without worrying about what you'll do while I'm gone," she jabbed, lightly downplaying the significance of her actions.

He stared, stoically, unhappily, waiting for her to continue.

She pressed her lips together, "You…are desperate enough to try something different. If I walk away now, I don't know if the chance will ever come up again."

"Why do you want me to try something different?"

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, crossing her arms nervously in front of her. "Let's not screw this up…we can talk about this stuff after your detox."

"I want you to tell me now," he said petulantly, looking up at her.

"I want your life to be more and…I don't want to watch you fall apart, because it hurts. I don't want to watch you destroy yourself. You make me insane…you make me angrier than anyone else has ever made me…consistently…and then in the next breath you make me…," Cuddy paused and shook her head. "I don't want to lose you entirely. It would be horrible for the hospital, horrible for the patients who need you."

House's face fell as she shifted to their professional relationship. She realized the vulnerabilities he showed by just letting her see him, by allowing her in his apartment and in his life as he fell apart, so she took another chance. All that she had done since she showed up was take chances. "Mostly…it would be horrible for me."

His eyes locked on her and she met them as they waited there, stuck in their eternal standoff. "This isn't the right time to discuss this," Cuddy said softly, looking away.

"Never is."

"You aren't in a position to deal with this right now, there are more important things to worry about."

"I'm not worried. If we wait, you'll say that I'm too fragile to discuss it and you'll be afraid of relapse, if we wait longer than that, there will be a new excuse or…you'll have moved on."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true," he answered calmly.

"OK. You want to talk right now?" she said, her voice uncertain. "Why did you kiss me?"

His calm wavered immediately and he looked away, clearly he had not anticipated her question.

"You could lie," House's hallucination sneered from the corner, "tell her you're into her soft, round parts. In the end we both know…she could never love us. Why would she?"

House looked at Cuddy, his sadness stifling any hope of crawling out from underneath his unhappiness, his hallucination's voice pressing the right buttons.

"You don't have to answer," she said faintly, "I was just making a point. This isn't the right time to discuss this."

"Grope her…objectify her. That way, you can get a feel and she will run out of here faster than you can stand up," young House encouraged.

House stood, shaking his head and turning away, muttering, "Just forget it," before he started putting clean sheets on the bed that Cuddy must have stripped while he slept on the sofa.

Young House sighed a laugh, happy and content with the discord. "That's better…just forget it. Fuck this whole detox thing too. Keep her hands out of our mind."

She started to help him, smoothing the sheets and watching him limping around the bed. "I can get this," Cuddy offered.

The pity in her eyes made him feel weak and he cleared his throat, "Did you sleep earlier?" House asked, standing only a foot away from her.

"A bit," she answered.

"You look really tired."

"You still look tired after all of that sleep," she retorted, almost argumentatively.

He shook his head, wanting to appear more together than he was. "Nuh-uh," he taunted like a kid, "you're tired-er-er."

She continued working and he sat on the sheet, one that was only partially in place, and prevented her from finishing. "It's done enough," House said, "go to sleep. We can't both be sleep deprived at the same time, it's still my turn."

"We have to get done here and get to my place tomorrow. I have to get stuff ready. We still need to pack your bag. I have to pack stuff for Rachel and I. I have so much to do."

"You have all day tomorrow. Take an hour and sleep," he said, pressing down roughly into his leg.

She thought about it for a moment, eventually sitting down before tentatively stretching sideways along the upper part of the bed, where the pillows were normally. He pulled the thick blanket up from the floor to give to her and saw a pale sliver of skin on her lower back where her shirt was pulled up. He wanted to touch it, to feel the softness of her next to his skin or under his fingers or against his face while he went to sleep. She opened her eyes and reached one hand out for the blanket. "You can lay down," she offered, "I promise I won't touch you."

He dropped his gaze, "I wasn't worried, I'm sure you can refrain."

She shook her head, lifting her upper body from the bed, "Which is it? You don't want me to touch you or you think I don't want to?"

He shook his head.

"You don't think you're attractive?" Cuddy asked, a smirk playing on her face.

House started to stand up, struggling a bit from the pain in his leg, and she pulled him back down onto the bed.

"It was hard enough to get up the first time," he complained.

She nodded him up toward the top of the bed, directing him to lean against the pillows that she fetched from the floor to prop there. "I'll rub it," she offered.

"I'm fine."

She moved next to him and started rubbing over the rough jeans. "Harder?" she asked.

"It's good, I'm fine," he insisted, stilling her hand.

Her hand remained low on his thigh and she whispered, "Why would you think that I don't find you attractive? You were the one who turned me down."

"Why did you pay off the hooker?" he questioned in response.

"Are we just going to keep asking each other questions and never answering them?"

He became the answer-seeking professional for a moment while he said self-assuredly, "Why did you pay off the hooker? For yesterday…sure that makes sense. You could say you wanted her to leave you alone, thought that you'd get the money from me later, anything to get her out of here. Why pay her to not come back _next_ time? It isn't like you'll be here the next time she comes. You wouldn't even know."

Cuddy's mouth opened slightly as she thought, her hand remaining just above House's knee. "We've played this game. I don't want to play it and get hurt. I…I promised myself I wouldn't get hurt like that again."

"What does that have to do with paying a hooker to stay away from me?"

"You already know or you wouldn't ask."

"I don't know. Because what I think it is…couldn't be true," he found her gaze and waited with his infuriating patience.

"What do you think it is?"

House shook his head, "You first."

"I did go first," she nodded. "I came after you, brought you back here, I'm trying to find a solution for you and if it doesn't work, you'll probably hold me responsible…blame me. Hate me. I'm putting it all on the line. I'm going with you to pursue something better. That should say something to you…or at least give you enough ammunition to use against me if you feel like it."

"You think I'll use this against you?" he asked dejectedly.

"I hope that you won't," she said, "but I want to be prepared for the next time you decide to make comments about spelunking or whatever derogatory metaphor you want to use to explain how disgusting or vile or unattractive I am. You usually follow up the moments where you make me feel attractive with moments like that where you remind me of how you actually feel."

"You know that's not how I actually feel," he accused.

"Do I?" she asked, keeping his gaze, but looking away for a second when she hated the disconsolate look in his eyes. "Fuck it," she said confidently, eliciting a nervous look from him.

When she pulled her hand away from his leg, he braced for her anger or perhaps a swift retreat, but he was ill-prepared for her actual response. Her hand moved from his knee and both of her hands went flat against the mattress. She took a deep inhalation, leaned forward, bracing herself on her hands in front of her, and she moved directly to him without further pause. Her lips pressed firmly against his for a few moments before her tongue slid along his upper lip.

He experienced fifteen or twenty seconds of something that silenced the pain that he felt, a surge of something that was characterized by only pleasant features, before the warmth of her mouth was shockingly replaced with cold air and empty space. He opened his eyes and found her near, but at all points separated from his body.

After a few moments of inaction, she wiggled her knees closer to him, he could feel the edge of her knees against his leg, their only point of contact, and she leaned forward again, pausing three inches from his mouth. "Does that answer any of your questions?" Cuddy asked.

Her face was close, her neck stretched elegantly, making an offer, but not forcing an answer. "It's your turn, House. You can turn away, you can hesitate, or…"

"Or?"

"Or you can kiss me back."

"Why'd you pay off the hooker?"

She shook her head, "It's your turn. I made my move."

He could see the battle on her face, the concern that she was about to be hurt, that she'd opened up, expressed interest, and that he'd rebuff. He leaned forward, neither held the other in place, they were free to run or turn away. Tilting his head only the slightest, he moved forward, brushed her lips with his own for a few seconds, watching the combination of anticipation and worry. And then, he devoured her. He was tasting, memorizing and savoring her mouth, surprised that she remained so close, that he didn't have to hold her face, or direct her movement, she was meeting him, matching each lick, nip, tug and flutter.

She pulled back, continuing with smaller, less consuming kisses, and she said simply, "Don't walk away."

He shook his head, feeling that a sure sign that his insanity had reached unmanageable depths would be to walk away when he was feeling the way he felt when they kissed. His hands moved up her arms, pulling her closer while her hands found his face. When his lips moved back along her jaw to her neck she whispered heavily, "I didn't want to have to think about you fucking her."

"Who?" House asked, so drawn into what they were doing that he had forgotten his earlier question.

"The hooker, that's why I paid her to go away. I don't want to think about you doing whatever you do with her the next time she's supposed to be here. That's why I paid her off."

"Why do you care?"

"Your turn," she cautioned, "Why did you kiss me that night?"

"I didn't think about it, it was just…what I did," he answered almost without volume. "I didn't like what you were feeling. You were so…"

"So what?" she asked, her fingers moving along the side of his face, her lips finding scruff-covered skin between the moments when their mouths met.

"Alone," he answered succinctly before kissing her again.

Their hands were on each other's faces or arms, they were touching, but their bodies were still separated by a distance that suddenly seemed inappropriate given how they were feeling and the way they were kissing.

"What did you mean when you said that you loved Rachel too?" he asked.

"Of course I love Rachel, what are you trying to say? You really think I'm just doing this for myself? That my adopting a baby is purely selfish that…what…she's a …'victim of my biological clock'? That is what you said, right?"

"You said 'too.' You said you loved her too…as in also."

"Oh," Cuddy answered, her eyes downcast. "This isn't the right time to discuss this," she reminded him, "we should concentrate on your health and see wh-"

"No," he shook his head, "now. We won't come back to this…it's how we work. We'll get this close and then we'll think and we'll never come back here."

"I don't know how you could even pretend to think that I don't have feelings for you."

"You don't do anything that would indicate that you do."

"Like practically _throwing_ myself at you?" she asked heatedly.

"Besides that. You can chalk that up to a momentary lapse in judgment."

"I'm here, I'm trying to help you as best as I can."

"Why?" he persisted, not at all gently.

"You know why."

"I also _know _that you don't actually have any interest."

"That's not true. I love you. You know that, you have to know that."

"I don't know that."

She closed her eyes, "I've been in love with you for a long time. I can't pinpoint a moment of realization. It's just something that you look back on and you don't remember it not being there. Something I've allowed for so long that I didn't even realize that I was allowing it until it was too late. And sometimes I want to smack you when you infuriate me and I can't believe my stupidity because I love you through the fury and the irritation and as my anger fades you always do something that makes me smile…makes me feel good or beautiful or cared for somehow. I don't know how you do it. But now, I seldom even enjoy it anymore because right after that you do something to push me away and that hurts. These little repetitious pokes seem inconsequential by themselves, but eventually they leave behind these gaping, painful wounds that feel like they will never heal and now…when you get near me, I'm just trying to protect myself because they run really deep."

"Me too, Cuddy."

"Which thing…the wounds, the self-protection or the feelings?"

He pulled her closer, but he knew she had to be moving somewhat willingly because, as good as he felt during moments of contact, his body was still weaker than normal. She was sitting off to the side of him, leaning across his torso, one hand braced on the mattress on the other side of his body. He could feel her body against his and felt the sensation of his thoughts scrambling in a much happier way than they had been the day before. "All of it," he nodded.

When he brought his face close enough to kiss her again, he offered no restraint. His hands and arms were firm and demanding, rough in a way that was enhanced by the affection beneath the need. She touched and kissed and even breathed with greater insistence, something that only made him feel more resolved in what he wanted from her, and even what he was willing to give. It was a new balancing of the scales where each was willing to admit they wanted to take and give in equal parts so they were temporarily left weightless, neither pushed nor pulled in any direction. The weightlessness loosened House's tight reigns of control on his feelings and he clarified, "I love you…the 'love you' part being part of the 'all of it' that I mentioned."

Her lips were meeting his again and he could see tears in her eyes that seemed happy, "You know our timing right now is really bad…we should wait…you'll look back and think I took advantage of you when you-"

"Or you'll look back and think I used your moment of compassion," he interrupted.

"We'll always find an excuse," she muttered while her hand pressed firmly against his stomach and moved around to his side.

"I don't say this now, and I wake up from being under, and I find out that you and the anesthesiologist found true love while standing over my unconscious body," he said, half teasing and then added, with a tone of misery, "Or you decide that I'm not worth it."

"You're worth it," she nodded.

He still seemed stunned, both of their hands grasping decisively as a way of taking possession, a way of attempting to make something between them fixed and permanent. His body felt a cacophony of needy stirrings and tinglings and rushes that were so much better than the state of living-death he had been feeling the previous night, and really for weeks before. Her hand moved under his shirt first, the thinness, warmth and strength of her fingers locating muscles and skin, and casually exploring his body while steadily creeping forward, testing boundaries. His arms tightened around her enough so that she didn't need her other arm to brace herself as she leaned across him, so she moved the other arm to him as well, and as their lines were crossed, and protective walls were breached, they were making out somewhat wantonly there on his bed.

He could not believe that he was actually feeling turned on, actually physically aroused through the Vicodin and the pain and he realized that he wanted to cling to her, he wanted to find the happiness or at least the lack of complete misery that he could find with her. He needed a pinpoint of light in a life that was feeling increasingly dark or perhaps just a reason to want to do something different with his life in a way that he had not before.

Closing his eyes, he slid a hand up her thigh over the soft cotton of her workout pants and slipped his fingers under her shirt, and his breath hitched slightly from the feeling of her skin and the fact that she did nothing to stop him. "I know you don't feel great," Cuddy spoke with unintentional seductiveness, "we can stop. Pick this up after some sleep…or later."

He shook his head immediately, "I do feel great."

Grinning with almost shy delight, she pulled off his shirt and in an instant he had hers removed. He moved steadily closer, nearly crawling forward while she scooted down into his bed until she was almost flat on her back. He nuzzled closely to her just to feel the span of their bodies against each other and felt that his fortunes really had begun to change. Soon her bra was off and their torsos were entirely bare and pressed together. The way that she seemed to move and wriggle next to him made his body feel as if it was waking from a years' long slumber. He was clutching at her body more desperately and she responded in kind, both without attempts to appear disinterested or casual as they rolled onto their sides.

His hands found her ass, pulling her tightly against him and she sighed happily, an expectant, sexy sigh filled with desire. Leaving his tight grasp on her for only a moment, he worked his fingers under the waistband of her pants and the moment became very real. His reality, the cold, dark one of late, was melting away with the possibility that even if he could not change, certain things in his life could. She whispered, her lips gently passing over his as they moved to form words, "I've wanted this for so long."

He stopped for a second as if she'd pinched him or said something completely shocking, and he shook his head with disbelief. "How long?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "feels like forever."

"Yea," he nodded.

He felt like he needed more hands to touch everything that he wanted to touch, torn between the desire to study and stretch the encounter for as long as possible, and the need to allow his pain to be swallowed by their passion, even if only ephemerally, any relief was welcomed. She seemed to sense the way that he was torn and she said, "This can happen again…and again, and again. I just…don't want this to prevent you from getting help."

He slowed for a moment, looking in her eyes for any hidden meaning and she added affectionately, "I'll help you, if you want me there-"

"Need you there-"

"Or if you need me there."

"I'm interested in your alternative pain management program."

"Not half as interested in that as I am," she smirked while she opened his jeans and reached in to stroke his length, raising an approving eyebrow, and moaning softly in a way that just made him harder, more eager and more invested.

He stopped touching her for a moment, relishing the sensations of feeling so free of the problems of reality for a moment, and letting her touch him. She watched him, his jaw free of tension, eyes softly closed while his hands moved around on her body just enough to register her presence. He snapped back to the moment, calmly helping her to remove her remaining clothes while he pondered what felt like limitless opportunities. He lifted one of her legs over his hip, his hands drifting lazily along her thighs, his fingers following the curve of her heat, surrounding her, feeling her warmth and watching her body shifting in more aroused ways around his hand. As she shifted, his fingers found her wetness without trying, one finger slipping between her folds inadvertently. She was so wet and aroused, her center so swollen with desire before he could even do all of the things he wanted to do to make her feel that way. "Who are you thinking about?" he spoke against her while his mouth urgently found a nipple and she yelped at the perfect amount of need that he conveyed, a desperation that she felt was specifically directed at her.

She held his head against her, "You…sometimes even when you aren't there."

Her words disappeared into a deep gasp while his fingers teased and probed and she finally growled with frustration, "Go slow next time."

House started to smirk, enjoying her desire and the way it was directed at him, and pulled her tightly against him, kissing her more fervently until he heard a voice behind Cuddy. "Any chance you could step aside…I want her a lot more than you do," House's younger self requested.

House shook his head, trying to ignore the voice.

"Do you think she knows I'm watching? Sort of like…taping her without her knowing or letting your buddies watch you do her," young, hallucinated House goaded.

House kissed Cuddy more devotedly, trying desperately to hold on to the moment that he'd wanted for quite some time until his hallucination said, "Flip her over so I can see. Stop worrying about impressing her. She's no different than-"

"You're different," House told her adamantly. "I'm not using you."

"I know," she nodded, smiling sweetly, although appearing somewhat confused, "I'm not using you either."

"I wish I could get rid of you," the hallucination sneered, "you're ruining it."

Cuddy pushed her hips forward, urging him on, clearly wanting him. She was as invested in the moment as he was, and he grabbed her hips and held them still, ceasing all of his exploration of her body and moving his arms back around her to hold her still while he pressed his face to her chest.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, "what's wrong?"

"Wait a minute."

Her hand went to her forehead, "You're gonna walk out of here, aren't you? Please don't, please don't walk away now."

"I'm not. I won't," he panted while his racing heart began to slow.

"What did I do that bothered you?" she asked, her voice sounding on the verge of either tears or anger, or some combination of the two.

"Nothing," he shook his head, "I want you so much, I just need a minute, there's something I need to tell you."

"You feel I'm taking advantage of you?"

"Not at all. Just…"

"My god, there's a woman in our bed trying to fuck us and you're turning her down?" the hallucination hissed with irritation. "It's not like you entertain a lot of free offers. Definitely not ones who look like this. I hate the kinder, gentler side of us."

"House," Cuddy whispered, "what's going on? What haven't you told me? Don't get up and leave right now. I can't do that again."

"I'm not leaving," House replied, "I need you."

"I'm here. I'm right here," she insisted, so firmly that she almost sounded angry. "You can trust me. I promise, I'm not going _anywhere_."

"You might want to wait to make promises until to you hear what it is."

"I love you…and I won't go. Trust me. Just tell me…whatever it is."


	4. Savoring

_A/N-Thanks to all who have reviewed since the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, KiwiClare, freeasabird14, JM, jaybe61, chebelle, LapizSilkwood, JLCH, Suzieqlondon, lenasti16, Pdubou, BabalooBlue, bere, Huddyphoric, huddy you are mine, Ana anamq, BJAllen815, Abby, dmarchl21, HuddyGirl, Alex, ikissedtheLaurie, Boo's House, Tori, Mon Fogel and bonnieyy77._

_I expect to update again on Thursday._

* * *

-Savoring-

"I told you I'm going crazy," House explained, "I wasn't exaggerating, I really am losing my mind."

"Just tell me whatever you need to tell me," Cuddy encouraged, her hand resting on his arm.

He pushed himself up and sat back against the headboard, "I've been hallucinating. Five days now."

"By hallucinating you mean…," she led as she rolled on her side to face him.

He pulled the loose sheet from the bottom of the bed and covered them. "I mean I'm being tormented by a person who cannot possibly exist. And occasionally arguing back."

"Lots of things can cause hallucinations."

"I had tests run. I'm fine except…"

"The Vicodin?"

"Yea. I'm running out of options."

"OK," she nodded, attempting to look unconcerned, "you already decided to quit, so these are just additional facts that indicate that the decision to quit is the right decision. In a few days, it will all be over…no more Vicodin means no more hallucinations."

"I guess."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"It will or at least it should, however, _what_ I've been hallucinating has made me aware of the fact that I'm pretty fucked up anyway. It's all stuff that's in my head. I just happen to be seeing it outside of my head right now."

"What are you seeing?"

House initially did not react, almost as if the question didn't reach his ears. Finally, with a slight shake of his head, he said, "Me, or at least a really fucked up version of me. Sort of…all of the worst of me, plus my own worst enemy all in one. He hates me, pretty much everything about me…hates the people who like me," House stopped, looking at Cuddy in a way that allowed her to realize that whatever he was hallucinating was not fond of her presence. "It's a constant reminder of how everything can and probably will go wrong."

"Want to hand her a phone…so she can call the men with the straitjackets?" House's hallucination poked. "You're making my case for me…doing all you can do to convince her that we are the _worst_ possible choice for her. For anyone. Soon she'll know we don't deserve her…or our freedom."

"Can you see him now? Or hear him? Is it just a voice?" Cuddy asked.

"You should have nailed her while you could…there are no conjugals in the nuthouse," the vision provoked.

House looked at Cuddy, the concern that she would sneak from the room to call someone to lock him up looming over him. She sat up next to him and moved closer, leaning against his arm reassuringly.

"I can see him and hear him, both," House answered.

"What exactly does he say about you or the people who care about you? Specifically."

Young House sniffled and dabbed at his face with an imaginary tissue. "Poor widdle Gweg's feelings get hurt?" he said using a childlike tone. Then he sounded angry, "Boo-fucking-whoo. Tell her your daddy didn't like you and mommy didn't protect you. Are you hoping she'll never, ever see you as a man? Because if you are, you're doing a great job."

"It doesn't matter what he actually says," House told Cuddy. "It's proof that I'm crazy. That what exists inside my head is nothing that people want to be around."

"I don't exist in your head I _am_ you," the vision pronounced victoriously.

"Basically, it questions your motivations and the motivations of those around you?" Cuddy asked.

"In part," House agreed.

"Makes you feel like a failure, substandard, unlovable?" she continued.

House stared at the hallucination, who was standing in front of him at the end of the bed, playing an invisible violin. House looked down at his hands and nodded once. "The more you open up, the harder you'll fall," the vision warned. "You'll tell her everything and she'll pity us, and then she'll realize just how fucked up we are, and she will run. Then she'll know everything, she'll hold all of the cards, and we'll still be alone."

"Doesn't really matter _what_ he says, what matters is how do I get rid of it? Not just the hallucination but what it comes from? Those thoughts are there, in my head. Some of them anyway," House answered her.

"I am _you_," the hallucination said, slinking forward to stand directly next to the pair at the side of the bed. "You can't kill me. You can detox fifty times and you'll always feel like the unworthy bastard that you are. Would you like to know why? Because you _are _that unworthy bastard, and you're smart enough to know it. These thoughts have been in our head almost forever, and they aren't leaving."

"You know," Cuddy said, somberly, "feelings like that are part of who you are."

"Told you," the hallucination gloated.

"So you see me that way too. Great," House said dryly, "that gives me lots of confidence. Tons of reasons to try."

"Not like that," Cuddy said, bumping into his torso with her elbow. "Everyone has that voice. I do. You just have to see yours more directly right now without your more rational mind to balance it out. I can imagine that, unmuted, it would be really overwhelming."

"I don't think you have the same voice," House said disbelievingly.

"The same? No," Cuddy answered, "but similar, yes. My fears aren't the same as yours, although I guess some of them are. The voices that make me wonder if I'm completely incapable of a relationship. The ones that make me wonder if you were right and my desire for a child was selfish? The ones that make me wonder if I really _can_ be a good mother? The ones that make me question my career path and whether or not I overacted when I fired that new nurse last month?"

House stared at her, searching, "Like those. But I don't care about firing someone and I'm sure I'd be a horrible mother."

Cuddy smiled and tried to sound teasing, "I thought the firing one was a fear we didn't share, and you know as well as I do that you desperately try to stifle your maternal instincts."

He nodded, attempting to smile back at the joke.

She took hold of his forearm, moved it onto her lap and still felt surprised that he allowed it. "When you were in the bathtub, I had lots of time to think. I kept hearing that lingering thought in the back of my head that told me that there is no way you could ever want me because you imagine the worst possible me. You see…a controlling woman…who adopted a kid for purely selfish reasons…you think I blew my way to the top and that I'm out to destroy you. Why would any man be capable of caring for a woman that he sees like that?"

"I admit that I think you like control," he confessed, "but I have never thought that you slept or blew or tickled your way to the top. I don't think you want to destroy me but…" House stopped and Cuddy waited, the air so thick and tense that it was like breathing plasma. The hallucination began to speak again and House spoke over it, "I know that if I let you get that close…it gives you the power to hurt me if you want to. As for the kid, part of it may be selfish. You felt that you were missing something. There's nothing wrong with knowing what you want and going after it."

Cuddy stiffened, bracing for harsh words that she expected would mirror his accusations when she originally wanted to adopt a child. He could see the immediate instinct to protect herself that she had honed as finely as he had over the years.

"Don't get all defensive," House countered, "You had a need and you met it. That's why people have kids, get married, have careers, go on adventure vacations…it's why some people devote their lives to charity…to fill a need that they have. Even the most selfless act is done for personal reasons. Some people commit 'selfless' acts to atone for past sins, as a way to feel superior, for the attention or out of guilt. A person's reasons are…inherently selfish because they are a person's own reasons and something must motivate them. Some people feel good when they give away their earthly possessions or feel they've earned their spot in heaven. No matter what _your_ reason, the kid benefits too. She's lucky. She would have had nothing, and now her life is-" House paused, filled with thought and hesitation, "The world would be better off if more people wanted a kid as badly as you did. You've tried, waited, have been disappointed. You must…value her."

She nodded, "I love her."

"There might be fewer hateful bastards like me if there were more parents like you."

"House…that's-"

Cuddy was tearing up so he interrupted. "Don't overreact. All that means is that most parents are really shitty."

"OK," she nodded, grinning in spite of his words because she could see the strength of the compliment in his eyes. "Questioning yourself is human. I'm sure your voice is harsh, but it is with everyone. It always has been…at least as long as I've known you. Sometimes the things that make us great or unique or brilliant…are also the things that torment us."

"So you do think he's right?"

"Well, no," she answered, shaking her head. "There are probably kernels of truth in some of his statements, which is why what he says bothers you, and other times he tells you things because he knows what you fear. He has complete access to all of your hopes, fears and memories. That makes your hallucination a very powerful voice who has the complete blueprint of who you are. No one else knows you like you do."

"So if it's part of me…no matter what I do, it will always be in my head, meaning that I really am that fucked up. I have no place being with you…being with anyone if part of me is thinking the things that I think. It means that part of me _knows_ there is no hope for me."

"No," she stated firmly, "it means part of you _fears_ there is no hope for you. It's completely different. You don't want to get rid of it because if you kill it, you will kill part of you."

"Sounding pretty hopeless here."

"Could you shut her up," the hallucination ordered. "She's much less annoying when she's quiet."

Cuddy saw House look toward the hallucination and purposefully redirected him to look at her. She began, "You need to allow yourself to know what that part of you thinks, because it's part of the whole puzzle. It's like discovering all of the symptoms a patient is exhibiting. Ignore one or two symptoms, and you may be misdirected when you're searching for a diagnosis. Acknowledge that it's pointing out fears or hopes. Then, you can learn when to tell him to shut up because something simply isn't true. You have to learn when your doubts are real, and when your doubts serve no purpose other than to attempt to destroy everything you have…when it wants to prevent your happiness. You aren't loathsome or heartless, but I think part of you knows that it's easier to see yourself that way and to make others see you that way too. If people think you're heartless and miserable it keeps them away. And if they're away, they can't hurt you."

"What if the things that I don't want to hear…are actually right?"

"Ask me. Ask what I think about your doubts."

"You're biased."

"If you think so, fine," she conceded, "but if you accept that, then it follows that I must actually care about you enough to be biased. So…if your hallucination or your mind tells you that I don't care, then it must be wrong."

"Or you care because I'm an employee and you need me at work."

"Remember when Wilson quit? I needed him as head of oncology, I really did. Searching for a replacement was a nightmare. But…I was never in his bed naked. I'm not here to keep a doctor at work, I'm here with you. This…is not about Princeton-Plainsboro."

House seemed to agree, although hesitantly. "I don't know if I can suddenly decide that what he thinks is bullshit, wave a wand and then I'm fine."

"I don't think so either. Maybe you need help. There are a few people you can talk to at the place where I'm taking you. They have counselors."

"You said it wasn't a rehab."

"It isn't, not at all. But, there are professionals on hand who might be able to refer you to someone or help you directly."

"I tried a shrink. It didn't work. Going actually could have killed me," House sighed his resignation, recalling his motorcycle accident.

"Maybe you tried the wrong shrink or didn't give it enough time. Or maybe you weren't ready yet when you went."

"Maybe."

"I'm going to guess that there are probably reasons why you…think so little of yourself in so many ways. I have a feeling that maybe there are some things you need to look at. I know you have not taken Kutner's death well. I wonder how well you've taken everything that happened last year with the crash and everything that happened with Wilson," Cuddy said, feeling as if she had struck several chords.

"Maybe I don't want you to know about every shitty moment and low point in my life."

"So don't tell _me_. I'm willing to listen but no one said you have to trust me with every secret. A fresh point of view could be good too."

"I guess," House replied, looking distressed.

"You don't have to be ashamed or apologetic of any of the parts that make up who you are, you just have to know which of those parts to be mindful of, which to disregard and which to give credence. All of these little parts of you…they make up the whole. I've fallen for the whole you. Not the doctor, not just the nice parts…you. Some of those parts are angry or complex or difficult and, believe it or not, I'm OK with that. Everyone is fucked up in their own way. I'm not interested in innocence or perfection."

"I see. So I'm not the first guy who you were about to have sex with, who stopped to tell you that he was having hallucinations," he said, in a bitter, joking fashion.

"Happens all of the time," she teased back, yawning apologetically and wiggling even closer to him.

"You seem calmer about this than I'd expect. Are you real?"

Cuddy laughed, "If I'm not real, then we're both hallucinating. I think once you get the Vicodin out of your system, the hallucinations will be gone, and then we can see where you are after that. It's part of you, so it isn't like you're hallucinating some murderous spirit who's telling you to kill me." He didn't respond at first so she turned to look at him, "You aren't, right? Your hallucination doesn't want you to kill me, does it?"

"Wouldn't be sitting here with you if it did, but you can go if you want."

"I didn't think you would, I just wanted to make sure since you didn't answer," she said as she yawned again.

House leaned down into the bed, bringing her along and pulling her tightly to him. "Sleep. Get sleep so we can finish here, get your crap and go fix my brain."

Her breathing became more rhythmic and he began to wonder if she was asleep. The pain in his leg felt like a constant, dull throb, and he realized he would need his Vicodin in the next two hours, chastising himself for not moving it closer before she fell asleep, half of her body draped over the left side of his. His body was filled with discomfort: a sore leg, a desire for an opiate that was already growing, a body feeling un-sated after a near encounter, a mind worried for its own sanity and pondering an uncertain future. He had the desire to jump ahead to Monday, tired of waiting, wanting to begin his detox so he could know what would happen at the end and, at the same time, he had a very real sense of sadness and even fear at the thought of losing the Vicodin he had depended on so often over the years. He had spent years trying to avoid pain, but his current trajectory would lead him to his own doom and he felt that his time was running out.

As he lay there, considering his own discomfort, he felt Cuddy breathing against his neck, her body against his side, warm and comforting. He was pinned between the iciness of his discontent and the warmth of her presence. Her hand pressed down more firmly into his lower stomach, massaging across his abdomen until she reached his hip, then she skated her fingers up along his side to his ribs and moved her flat palm across his chest. She repeated the motion a few times, her foot winding under his closest leg and sliding down his calf. Her hand seemed to wander with increasing confidence and with the combination of nails, the soft pads of her fingers and the flat stretch of her palm.

He had one arm around her, the hand that was on her side was lazily stroking along her waist from hip to rib. When her hand drifted farther below his belly button, down toward his pelvis, he pulled his arm around her and his stomach muscles tightened and twitched as he felt a powerful surge of arousal. "Cuddy, you're-"

"I'm what?" she asked, her voice at one time affectionate, aroused and arousing.

"You're…turning me on," he said, holding her moving hand still under his free hand.

"That might have been the point," she suggested.

"You're tired."

Her hand began to move again, still on his torso but in a way that continued to fuel his desire. He smirked at her, feeling worked up and starting to wonder if he should at least try to forget about the hallucination for a few minutes. She asked, "What's he saying right now?"

House shrugged and looked around, "He's not here."

"Maybe talking about him…confessing his existence, acknowledging what he is…got rid of him," Cuddy said hopefully.

"I doubt it. He'll be back."

"He's part of your mind," she began, "so what can we do that might quiet your mind?" Her hand drifted lower, her fingers lightly finding and caressing his sex. The scant touches did nothing but incite his need more, waking up portions of him that he was sometimes concerned were slowly dying.

She watched as his body tensed in anticipation and she worried that it was reservation. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, momentarily resting her hand on his hip and questioning him in a very serious tone.

"That's up to you," he answered gruffly. "You're the one fondling a nutjob."

"You aren't a nutjob," she answered sternly. "Maybe you feel like I'm taking advantage of you?"

"God, no," he answered quickly. "I only told you because…if you're going to jump in the lake, you might want to know what's lurking under the water."

She sat partially upright, propped her body up on her elbow, "You look so…unhappy."

"I always look unhappy."

"No, not like this. I thought maybe we could…I don't know. It was nice…where things were going earlier."

"It was," he nodded, pulling her up on him, his eyes and hands examining the shape of her thighs as they parted over his body. "He'll come back. And if he comes back, he's gonna watch."

"I like an audience," she shrugged and giggled when his eyes went wide. "I'm kidding," she clarified. "Maybe he really is gone now that we've shined the light of day on him. If not, it isn't like it's a stranger. It's all part of you. Maybe I can convince you…all of you…that someone can have feelings for you. Maybe the way that I touch you," she slid a hand up to his face, lingering momentarily at a spot over his heart. "Or maybe the way I look at you," she said, her eyes finding his with brazen fondness. "Or maybe the way I kiss you will provide enough evidence to silence some of your questions."

She had his complete attention, the look of pain and unhappiness replaced with a blank, waiting stare. For a moment he seemed open to observing whatever she wanted to demonstrate. She leaned forward slowly, her lips, soft, demanding and faintly moist, landed perfectly against his own, slipping, in some ways directing his reaction, and in some ways accepting it with each new touch. He felt simultaneous rushes, the expected one surging to his erection, but the other unanticipated one, zinging a panged flutter to his heart. He acknowledged the fact that his feelings were real more easily than he did the thought that hers could be genuine. From his own observations, it seemed her words were true, that she was proving something to him.

He had experienced unattached sex far more often than he had experienced anything meaningful during the previous few years. He was very familiar with the more practical dial-up sex that he would order and pay for from time to time and this certainly was not that. The early moments of the encounter were filled with opposing notions as he relished the pleasant differences between paying for an orgasm and being made love to by someone who actually cared for him. It felt like the memory of a touch like that was so distant in his past that it seemed a faint whisper in a history cluttered with less enjoyable noises. The other element thrown in obvious relief was the difference of a lonely night spent so recently when he stared at his ceiling, a night like so many others that was characterized by pain and frustration.

A few nights earlier, he lay in that bed, rubbing his thigh and wishing that the Vicodin that he had taken, enough to render most people unconscious, would offer some reprieve from the pain that was consuming his body and mind. That night, while he hated his mangled thigh and his mind plagued with thoughts of a dead former employee, he felt his bed shift and when he turned, he stared at the face of his youth. His hallucination was never gone for long after that moment.

Days after the first appearance of his angrier, exaggerated, younger self, Cuddy was above him, whispering and breathing her thoughts of attraction, affection and desire, not spitting hateful derisions and feeding into a mind that already found its owner's existence superfluous. "Are you OK?" she asked.

He nodded quickly, perhaps a bit too eagerly for his often emotionally noncommittal exterior, but he enjoyed the way it made her smile, realizing that she probably wanted to be wanted too, and that having that want satisfied probably felt good to her as well. He pushed himself up on his elbows to meet her mouth more assertively, wanting her to know that he was not disinterested. When they broke to take breaths deeper than the tiny ones they stole between kisses, he said with words sounding more of rasp than voice, "You make me feel good."

"Do I?" she prompted.

He nodded slowly, his eyes training on hers. He grabbed the pillow, propping up his head to free his hands, and he started to study her body. His hands mirrored each other, moving from her hips to her breasts, palming them and caressing in ways less desperate than he had earlier, his thumbs and forefingers teasing her nipples. The fingertips of both of his hands followed her stomach, his thumbs eventually finding her heat while his fingers extended to her hips. "I want to make you feel as good as you are making me feel," he stated firmly.

"You already are," she answered.

"I could do better, keeping in mind that I'm not twenty-five anymore."

"I'm not either," she shrugged, scooting forward so that his length rested between her warm folds while her fingers continued to touch him and he continued to touch her in ways he had not been permitted to in ages.

"Except I seem to be worse for the w-"

House stopped speaking when she moved forward with seductive elegance, bringing her hands to the mattress next to his shoulders and rippling her upper body closer to him, her lips near his. She rocked forward, moving her heat along his length, coating his sex with wetness but not allowing him entrance, and watching him surrender entirely to what was occurring. He was giving into pleasure instead of submitting to hopelessness, and she heard an anticipative sigh emerge from his body. She waited as long as she felt able, until the moment where his eyes began to look desperate and just as she was about to ask him, practically plead him, to finally be inside her, she felt him pressing at her entrance. She gasped as she jerked her hips toward him while he lifted toward her. They groaned together, holding still momentarily, allowing the rush of feeling and sensation to consume the last vestiges of coherent thought.

At that point, they both were tired. House's continuous battle with emotional and physical pain had exhausted him. The feelings in both of them that had been simmering for quite some time were allowed to rush to the surface during a few hours of vulnerability and openness that strangely may not have even happened had the participants not been individually either concerned or nearly shattered. Their behavior was, for them, impulsive and reckless, a covenant entered into at a time of unprecedented upheaval, a treaty forged for the purposes of survival and with the hope of one day thriving. And yet the insanity of it was lost on them because it seemed the next step, a moment to break beyond a long standing stalemate to start moving somewhere.

The retreats and returns of their bodies to each other were as natural and satisfying as if they had been quenching each other's thirsts for years rather than carefully avoiding too much contact. What started at first as something tender became rougher and more raw, beings searching for something they were so near to having in their grasps. They were chasing want and affection. He forgot that his body was weary as he tried to find her again and again while she met him willingly and desperately. She forgot that she was overwhelmed with trying to carefully balance a reality that was becoming increasingly top heavy. Their sounds were noises that could have possibly been words or parts of words but the meanings were strangely conveyed in spite of the incoherent nature of their dialogue. There were pieces of praises, names and pleas, and hands that clung desperately to hold onto the immediate source of relief.

Her voice squeaked on a sharp inhalation and her entire body clamped down on him, her core pulsing its gratitude around his body in a way that made all of the feelings that he was already feeling ten times stronger. He opened his eyes in time to see her back arch, her arms stretched forward, her fingertips meeting the skin of his abdomen while she quivered and jerked above him, aware only of her own pleasure until she heard him cry out her name softly before joining her. Her abandon, one prompted by him, was the vision that encouraged his body to offer up all that remained of his strength while he let go, experiencing the seconds of bliss that his body had been chasing. She rocked on him gently, barely moving as they coasted down, as their breath returned to normal although their hearts were still racing when he pushed her hips down against him completely in a silent plea for her to remain near.

Equally as satisfying, but in an entirely different way, was the way that she didn't pull away from him. Her eyes were filled with emotion while she curled against his body and whispered into his ear, "Are you uncomfortable?"

He shook his head, closing his arms fully around her waist. He could feel his body drifting to sleep again.

He slept well, deeply, and woke to the sound of pills, shaking and tapping between the bottom of a pill bottle and the lid, but the first sight he saw was Cuddy sleeping next to him, her arm still stretched across him, one leg still over his waist. He stared at her, knowing that the hallucination wanted his attention, but refusing to offer it. "Ignore me all you want," the hallucination warned, "You know as well as I do, you only a have a few hours left with these."

His younger self jiggled the pills loudly, clapping the contents harshly in front of House's face. "Hi," Cuddy whispered, wiggling her lithe body against him.

"Hi," he answered, ignoring the hallucination, trying to cling to the more enjoyable space she was creating right in front of him.

She reached for him, trailing her fingers down his chest suggestively. "Up for another round before we get out of here?"

House rolled back to reach for the Vicodin that he put on his bedside table during the night, finding his hallucination gone yet again. He opened the bottle and shook two into his mouth, hoping she wouldn't notice the quantity. He put the bottle back down on the table and rolled back to her, pulling her against his body. "Another round?" he asked with mock incredulity.

She nodded, ineffectively hiding her smile.

"Absolutely," he smirked tiredly, savoring the fading taste of Vicodin on his tongue.


	5. Selfish

_A/N-Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, CSINYLovexx4ever, Tori, OldSFfan, lenasti16, freeasabird14, JM, BabalooBlue, JLCH, LapizSilkwood, CacauHousemaniaca, jaybe61, IWuvHouse, chebelle, dmarchl21, jkarr, Boo's House, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, devonfc, Vicpei and BJAllen815._

_My work will require really long days for the rest of the week. I'll try to update sooner, but can't guarantee. Should be something before Sunday/Monday._

* * *

-Selfish-

It took House a few short minutes to gather enough clothes to leave, and they were out the door and on their way to Cuddy's. Her preparations were more complicated as she gathered the things she would need for both herself and her daughter. She ran bags out to the car and shoved them in the trunk while he looked around her living room at pictures, books and DVDs. Cuddy felt she was balancing things pretty well while she finished their preparations, hoping for a few relaxing hours before they made their drive to the treatment location in the morning. Although things seemed in balance, the pressure of the upcoming days wore heavily on her shoulders.

In a few moments, Wilson would be arriving with paperwork, likely asking questions about what was going on with his friend. A few hours after that, she would be reunited with Rachel, and not long after that, she would be making choices about his health and his future yet again. She tried desperately to hide the fear that was building inside her, the fear that she would let one of the balls in her juggling act fall to the ground. She had no choice but to rid herself of one of the elements that she was balancing, she acknowledged as Wilson rang the doorbell.

Wilson walked in, dressed for work and responsibility, looking at Cuddy who, for once, was the informal one. "Is he here?" Wilson asked while he handed Cuddy an accordion folder filled with papers.

"No, I dumped his body in the quarry while I was out. I thought it would be easier that way," she said, walking to the kitchen and nodding Wilson to the living room where House was resting.

"You look…bad," Wilson said as he walked in and saw House.

"Is it the shoes?" House asked dryly.

"Are you going somewhere to get help?"

"No, Cuddy and I are going on our honeymoon. She can barely keep her hands off me."

"I'm sure," Wilson answered sarcastically. "Are you…getting help?"

House nodded, staring ahead.

Wilson smiled, stiffly, "I'm glad. I knew it must have been something big since she's going all out with this leave."

House shook his head, startled, "What do you mean?"

"I guessed that it had something to do with you, since she arranged for leave for both of you."

"She didn't tell you what we're doing?"

"She only said she needed the remainder of her maternity leave, and it was a good time to take it. She's leaving me in charge, I'm taking her cell phone…she's not even bringing it along. Apparently, she's leaving the number where she can be reached with me and her sister and that's it. Cuddy never goes anywhere without her cell phone."

"Yea," House agreed, stunned and a bit unsettled by what Wilson had said.

"Where are you going, exactly?"

"I don't know," House admitted.

She walked back into the room with the forms she had already completed and some pens. She sat next to House on the sofa, pointing to the places that he needed to sign and churning out the necessary paperwork. Walking over to Wilson, she handed him a paper with contact information. "If you need me, don't hesitate to call," Cuddy assured Wilson, "I just don't need to know every time an HR complaint has been filed or someone overschedules the OR."

Wilson nodded, "Will there be…any HR complaints with certain people gone?" He looked past Cuddy at House.

"Yes, that was very subtle," House answered.

"There are a surprising number that have nothing to do with House," Cuddy said. "His are just more…original."

"I guess I have what I need," Wilson answered, looking down at the papers.

"You do," Cuddy replied, "if you need anything else, let me know."

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Wilson asked when he and Cuddy were alone by the door, and she handed him her cell phone. "This is a gigantic step for him, perhaps one best handled by professionals who deal with addiction. So where exactly are you going?"

"This is how we decided to do this. We made the decision together, and it's what he wants," Cuddy said firmly.

Wilson narrowed his eyes knowingly, "Cuddy, this is not the time."

"No better time. He needs to take steps. This has gone on long enough. He trusts me with his care and I'm going to follow through with it."

"I'm not talking about that. I know that look. Are the two of you…?"

"Are we _what_?" Cuddy asked, clenching her jaw and defiantly crossing her arms as she stared into him.

Wilson smirked and shook his head, "This is a mistake. This is not the right time to get involved with someone who-"

"Stop," Cuddy answered, putting one hand on Wilson's forearm. "I know you are concerned for your friend-"

"For both of you."

"Fine, for both of us. House and I…are screwed up together at the best of times. We're…screwed up together at the worst of times too. We're in this, we're invested. He is not going to hurt me."

"And him?" Wilson asked. "Can you be sure he won't get hurt?"

Cuddy backed away slightly, her mouth opening as she thought, "I'm not going to hurt him. That's the opposite of what I want to do."

Wilson bobbled his head, an equivocal response to her statement. "Good luck. I hope…I hope you are both alright."

"I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Call me. Give me updates. Not for work, but as a friend," Wilson requested.

"I will," Cuddy answered, giving him a one-armed hug before he left.

As Cuddy was walking down the hall, she saw House standing in the living room and watched as he tipped back his pill bottle toward his mouth yet again before limping back to the sofa. She took two steps past the opening to the living room and froze, unable to ignore her worry. She backed up and entered the living room. "I know we had an agreement, but it hasn't even been an hour since your last pill and you're taking more."

House held the bottle upright between his thumb and forefinger and stared at it.

Cuddy sat next to him on the sofa, "I really don't want you to overdose when we are so close to getting you treatment and, tolerance or not, at some point it will be too much and your body won't be able to handle it."

"I know," he answered, reaching over and handing her the bottle.

She smiled, nodding and shoving it into her pocket. "Thank you." She patted the tucked away bottle for a moment and then said, "I don't know if you'll be willing to talk to one of the therapists about some of the doubts and concerns you have, but I think it's possible that they'll tell you that this is not the best time to start a relationship."

"She's trying to get out of it already," House's hallucination suggested. "You've been together a few hours and she's already sick of us."

House rubbed his forehead and thought, finally responding to Cuddy, "They'd be right, it's a horrible time to start a relationship."

"We can put the whole 'us thing' on hold until afterwards, if you want," Cuddy offered.

House chuckled with nervous frustration, "You and I aren't _starting_ a relationship." She looked momentarily hurt at his response until he continued, "We've been half in one for a long time. I need you right now."

"You won't be on your own, I'm not suggesting that we don't speak," she answered.

"We can't keep up this…you and me limbo crap. And I don't want to be punished for attempting to get clean."

"Oh, trust me," young House interjected, "getting clean is punishment enough."

"I don't want to punish you for that either," she answered, "I'm offering because I don't want to distract you and I don't want to put you in a position where you feel like you're spread too thin…thinking about me…thinking about detoxing."

"You are…wound through all of this, through my history. I can't do it half way…That applies to you or quitting Vicodin. I want to quit the drugs and keep you. We crossed over the line and we can't go back now. If we do, I'll have to keep pushing you away, which means I'm going to hurt you, which means I'm going to eventually lose you. I want to learn to be clean…and be with you."

"And Rachel? Where does she fit in?" Cuddy asked.

"If you can't get rid of the woman, at least tell her to send back the kid. We don't want to be saddled with a kid," young House sneered, "we are not 'mommy's boyfriend' material."

"I'm not going in half way and, if it's going to work, neither can you. Which means that you have to be willing to put everything on the table too. If we hold back…," House shook his head.

"You don't seem fond of her," Cuddy answered.

"I don't know her. She doesn't have much of a personality yet."

"Yea, she does," Cuddy answered. "She doesn't say much, but she has a personality."

"Fine," House nodded, "If you expect me to try, I expect the same from you. Once I'm feeling better, you'll have to give…Rachel…and I a chance."

She covered his hand, which was resting on his thigh, with her own. "OK."

"I love how you pretend to be putting it all on the table," young House reveled, "because you are a _liar_!"

House sat forward on the sofa, thumping the surface of the coffee table with the back of his fist. "Keys?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"You can't drive," she immediately responded.

"I know. I want to get something out of your car."

"I can get it for you," she offered.

He didn't respond, keeping his hand extended and waiting for the keys to the car. She disappeared into the hallway and returned, holding out the keys in front of her, nervously biting her lip. She wondered if she would always question if he was on his way out the door, if she would always worry that suddenly he would push her away and act as if they had never been close. House took the keys and limped heavily from the room, and she stood completely still while she heard the door pull shut. He was gone for nearly ten minutes, and she still remained in place, waiting. During the last few hours, she could feel the worry radiating from him more with each click of the second hand.

Just as she was trying to decide if she should go look for him, or sit and wait, the door opened and she heard House's footfalls. She turned in her spot and saw him walking, leaning so heavily on his cane that it was almost completely under him, his arm and shoulder bearing nearly all of the weight of his body during his right foot's step. His left hand held a tee shirt that he had wrapped around something that he needed to bring inside. He practically fell back into the sofa, propping his cane against the table while he still held the makeshift tee-shirt-bag. He looked up at her and then to the spot next to him on the sofa, silently inviting her to join him.

She sat down, hands folded in her lap while she waited. He placed the shirt on the coffee table, and when his hand let go of it, it fell open, spilling orange pill bottles loudly onto the surface.

"I got these out of my luggage," he confessed, "and out of my jacket. Also the one I stashed in your car during the ride over." There were five bottles in front of them. "I guess if I'm going to do this, I should…do it," House said, staring at the table.

"How many did you take?" she asked anxiously.

"The usual. Most of these are full. My supply."

"You brought this many bottles to last you the weekend?"

"Hard to leave without them," he said, looking over at her.

"You can do this, House. From everything I've read, the worse of the detox will be over by the time you wake up. You'll probably have some lingering sickness or discomfort for a few days and th-"

"And then we see what's left," House finished. "How much my leg really hurts, how crazy I really am. Whether I'm clean and I have a girlfriend…or I imagined all of this."

"You did not imagine this," Cuddy assured him.

He pushed the bottles toward her. "I'm keeping one…until the procedure," he said, holding a partially filled bottle in his hand.

"OK," she nodded, pointing to the bottles on the coffee table, "are you ready for me to get rid of these?"

"No, I'm not. But do it anyway."

Cuddy began to gather the bottles and she said, "This really scares you doesn't it?"

"Pain? Yes," he answered, testily watching her collect his pills.

"Being without Vicodin."

"Yea," he answered bluntly, "since Vicodin eases the _pain_."

"I can't pretend that you'll be without pain," she replied, "but even with all of the narcotics in your system, you still aren't without pain. After you're clean, if the pain is horrible, we'll look for the next step. We have to start somewhere."

"Think about what it takes to get _Cuddy _away from the hospital. We are really dragging her down," young House said. "She shouldn't be here, babysitting us."

"I'm holding you back," House said, sadly.

"That's not true," Cuddy denied, standing up to take the bottles away.

"We really are…what if something happens at the hospital, and she's needed? Maybe they'll find someone else to cover for her while she's gone, and when she gets back they'll replace her with a new, less-tied-down version of her," the hallucination suggested. "Wouldn't that be funny? If after all of these years, helping us finally cost her her job? Then she'd really hate us."

"You don't want to be gone from work for that long," House muttered.

"I was supposed to be out that long originally," Cuddy answered.

"But couldn't because of me."

"I wasn't saying that."

"You love your job."

"My _job_…is not the only thing in my life. I don't want it to be the only thing in my life anymore."

"What does she expect?" young House asked. "What does she want in return? Something to hold over our head?"

"Why are you doing this?" House asked her, shakily standing, "This doesn't make sense."

"It does make sense," Cuddy replied, "it does. I want you to be OK."

"No…ulterior motives?"

"This has to be selfish?" she asked, laughing sadly, "of course it does."

"I just want to know the stakes."

"You just told me yesterday that it was OK to know what I want and to pursue it. So even _if_ that is the case, would it be so bad? If I wanted you to be healthy and happy because I think maybe you and I should try something together. Try a relationship. Would that be so bad?"

"She doesn't want that, she wants us firmly under hand," young House said, looking over her shoulder at her face. "She wants to control us."

"That isn't true, by the way," Cuddy said, growing angrier, "Not entirely. I mean I do want a chance at a relationship. Selfishly, that is true. But whether or not that happens is secondary to you having some quality of life. Not losing your mind. Whether or not you want me…I don't want to see you locked up…or worse, dead!"

"This is bad, this is really bad. Grab our cane, and get out of here. We'll get a cab. Get the fucking Vicodin from her too. She's always trying to come between us and what we want. Taking our Vicodin, paying off our hooker," young House warned, his voice more tense.

"House," Cuddy said loudly, attempting to get his attention, and then softening her voice, "I think maybe you're freaking out because of tomorrow."

"She acts like she knows us. Like she cares. Get the fucking cane and let's get out of here," the hallucination screamed over her shoulder with such vigor that House could feel the rage.

"Don't fucking do this now," Cuddy practically yelled, tears rapidly filling her eyes. "We're close and you are going to walk out of here like-"

House's eyes finally went to the vision and the moment they did, Cuddy noticed. She took a step forward, directly in front of him. "Look at me," she said softly. He didn't immediately respond. "You're listening to him? Aren't you?" she asked.

House squinted tightly at her, it appeared to be an attempt to focus through obvious distress.

"You don't have to listen to him," Cuddy said. "You don't have to make any other decisions right now. Just stick to tomorrow. Give it a try. Just stay on the path you've already committed to taking. Don't let your doubt destroy the chance."

She watched him glance quickly toward the door, and she put an open hand on his chest, right near the spot where she did when she first helped him sleep. The memory, the kindness extended in that moment when nothing in his world felt alright, washed thoroughly over him. As the feeling of that memory became clear, his focus snapped forward, his eyes meeting hers. "Please?" she asked. "You are getting worse by the day, and if you don't do something soon, there will be no turning back. Look, you can keep the Vicodin until tomorrow, if that's what you want. You just have to slow down."

She could see him struggling within himself and he nodded, "Take the rest of it. I'll just keep the one bottle I have."

"OK," she nodded. "You aren't leaving?"

"I'm not leaving," he answered after what felt like an eternity.

"Good," she smiled briefly while he sat down.

She was gathering the pill bottles when she heard him say, "I'll embarrass you. Frustrate you. Irritate you. Confound you."

"Til death do us part?" she joked.

He grasped her wrist. "You know I'll do all of those things."

"I'll do some of the same things to you. When we're back at work, I seriously doubt that much will change."

"I don't know if we can…not be together," he said softly.

She breathed in sharply, "Me neither. I just know that I want to try. But…what I really want…is for you to get better. Let's concentrate on that."

He managed a weary smirk. "I want to try too. Both."

The immediate crisis averted, Cuddy continued preparations, heating leftovers from her fridge for the two of them to eat and making a few final calls from her home phone. As House sat thinking, fighting the influence of the hallucination that desperately wanted him to choose a different course, he was struck by exactly how far she seemed willing to go. During the entire time that he had worked for her, he had never seen anything surpass the importance of work in her life, except perhaps Rachel, but after a short time, Cuddy was forced to try to balance her child with the needs of her hospital.

When Cuddy was finally willing to pull away from her hospital, to temporarily separate herself from her work responsibilities, she was taking only two people with her. Then he felt the enormity of that himself, a feeling that he wanted her efforts to be worthwhile for her, and he wondered if he could actually do what they were setting out to do without failing horribly. Interesting thoughts floated through his head as he tried to fight the voice of skepticism that had been plaguing him.

As he sat at the dining room table, Cuddy casually placed an empty plate near where he was sitting, and he offered a very genuine, "Thank you."

"Welcome," she answered, automatically, with the programmed response that she had known since childhood and nothing more.

When she returned from the kitchen, he grabbed her hips, watching her face fill with surprise as he directed her closer to him. "I mean…_thank you_," he said earnestly.

"Sarcasm. Nice," she replied, "if you don't like the leftovers we can call for pizza."

"I don't want pizza, and it's not sarcasm."

"Oh," she answered, her lip curling and eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

"I really…I know what you're trying to do. I appreciate it," he said as he moved her between him and the table, pushing her butt against the edge of the surface. "You didn't give up on me. Yet."

"I'm not going to," she answered, looking down at his face.

He could not help but wonder why she was choosing him, why she was going to the lengths she was going to, and he really began to suspect that she was a hallucination until she leaned down and kissed his forehead. It was gentle, sweet, affectionate and felt very real. He started to push her shirt up her body as casually as he would drop a Vicodin into his mouth and she said, stunned, "What are you doing?"

"Transferring addictions," he answered calmly.

"That's not funny," she replied, covering his hands.

"I know. I'm searching for motivation then. We'll call it that. I'm sampling my future reward."

"You can't put the success of your sobriety on another person," she argued.

"I'm not," he answered, "but you've made yourself part of it. You would always be part of it, no matter how long we wait."

"I know, and I want to be, but-"

"Shh," he whispered, helping her out of her shirt and moving each of her hands to the table top.

He kissed his way across her belly and to each breast after he removed her bra, grazing his teeth over each nipple and watching her chest move with heavier breaths. He slinked his fingers down into the back of her pants, feeling the soft skin that covered her firm ass and shoving down the new pajamas bottoms that she had changed into earlier. He could smell the delicately feminine soap that lingered on her skin and the detergent that scented her clothes while he trailed his nose down her stomach. He kissed her hip, holding her against the table's edge while he allowed his tongue to trace the line from her hip to the top of her inner thigh.

She thought she should tell him that what he was doing was unnecessary, that they could wait until he was feeling better, that he did not have to express a gratitude that she already felt, but he felt so wonderful next to her that her desire was clouding her senses. He did touch her with gratitude, but what she did not understand was his desire to somehow prove himself, to make her sacrifice worthwhile. He was similarly unaware that, for her, the concept that he could survive without a constant supply of opiates was something she felt was inherently worthwhile.

Her breath was shaky, her words uneven, "Wanna go to my room?"

He shook his head, listening to utensils clattering to the ground when he pushed her up onto the table. He wanted to seize the opportunity, the moments left during the final hours before his detox, because he had no idea what the next days would bring. He lifted her legs, bracing each of her feet against one of his shoulders. Kissing each of her ankle bones first, he began to allow his lips to move upward along her legs, noting the curve of her calves, the shapes of her knees, the taut smoothness of her thighs. His lips and hands moved along each accessible muscle, giving her ample time to leave if she had wanted to, but he proudly watched the way she was glued to her spot without the slightest thought of leaving.

His face scratched and tickled along her thighs while she anticipated. Her last few months were not full of sexual encounters and she felt like it had been eons since she felt what she was imagining she was about to feel. She remembered from experience, not only his talents, but the enjoyment he found in going down on her and the memory alone enticed her. Two of his fingers moved to either side of her sex, pressing softly to part her folds so he could see. He watched her clit thump in anticipation when the cold air surrounded her newly exposed flesh.

He leaned close, she could feel his breath, she could sense his closeness, but just as she closed her eyes, she felt his finger plunge steadily into her. She sighed both at the pleasantness of that sensation, and her disappointment that she had yet to feel his mouth and tongue against her. After a few leisurely thrusts of his finger, he added another, enjoying the heat of her body, the feeling of her aroused state, and the vision of her body accepting his presence. When he barely allowed his tongue to slip between the folds of her sex, she gasped loudly, feeling the smallest hint of the sensation that she craved. She was more frustrated, more ready, more desperate, and then his mouth covered her warmth. Not focusing too directly, but allowing his mouth to discover her heat.

She dropped her head back on the table, her voice still quivering, "God, please, just like that," hoping that his relaxed pace would allow her to enjoy the experience for a while. She never wanted it to end. "Don't stop, keep…that's _perfect_." All of her words evolved into the same request while she wished that he could continue making her feel that way for the rest of her natural existence. She had no idea just how willing he was to do exactly that.

He continued for longer than he thought she would allow, in no rush, enjoying the way she smelled and felt, and hoping to forever remember the taste of her on his tongue. When he slid the entire length of his tongue along her clit in one slow, adoring motion, her patience unraveled and she so did she, lifting her hips in pulses that were as rhythmic and sharp as the pulses within her body. When her arm pushed along the table with abandon, she knocked several other items onto the floor, a fact that did not go unnoticed by House. He was thrilled to watch Cuddy, so often collected and professional in appearance, sending her dishware hurdling to the floor without a care in the world.

As distracted as she was, as uncaring as she felt about the world apart from them, he was too. The beauty of that moment was that his mind was not on his tomorrow or self-loathing or questioning her motives. He was equally focused on their act.

Her chest was still heaving post-orgasm. When she sat up, sliding off the table to kiss him because every fiber of her being wanted to offer him the best orgasm he had ever experienced, she reached for his belt and he spoke into her mouth a simple but direct, "No."

She backed away, "You're joking?"

"After I'm feeling better."

"That could be days, maybe a couple of weeks."

"Might be, but I'm a lousy lay right now," he answered.

"You are not," she retorted, snapped out of post-orgasmic bliss.

He sat her back up against the table, "I'm selfish. Let me do that again," he almost demanded.

"No," she shook her head, "I want you."

"You have me," he answered. "Consider this down payment. You can come for the rest after I'm opiate-free and squeaky clean."

It took little effort to put her back up on the table, and to shortly thereafter have her screaming his name. He wanted to continue indefinitely, but he savored every lick and kiss because he knew at some point she would be done and he did not want it to be over. When he was lost in her, the static surrounding him was quiet. She came again, finally covering her tired, quivering sex with her hands and locking her legs together, unable to even consider any more attention from him.

She slid off of the table, again going for his jeans and again being denied.

"I'm only doing this if I can bring my best to the party. I don't want you to be disappointed. Give me a few days," House explained.

He was hard beneath her hand, but refused her anyway, and she was baffled. He got up, went to her bathroom and got in the shower. In the dining room, dishes and utensils were strewn about the floor and food grew cold, waiting to be eaten. She sat naked in her dining room until she realized that he likely _did_ want a down payment. He probably did want some assurances that she would be there, hoping that she was real, and that he had not imagined what was going on between them. At the same time, she truly believed that he did not want to disappoint her.

She went to her bathroom, entering after he announced that she could, and she got in the shower. She stood behind him, pressing her breasts into his back while she reached around to grasp his length. He was still somewhat hard, she was still baffled that he had denied her. He sighed, leaning back into her body while she wrapped her fingers around him and began to move. "Stop," he said, turning around to face her.

She stepped closer, leaning him against the wall of the shower while her hand when to his sex again. "Just my hands," she offered. "Let me make you feel good."

"You already did," he confessed calmly.

"Fine," she answered, "I'm selfish. I want to get you off too…I don't want to wait a couple of days."

He let go of her hands, letting his head fall back against the wall while she patiently touched him, watching his body beneath her fingers and palms. She listened to his stifled groans, his sighs and near pleas while she brought him as much pleasure as she could. She wanted him inside her, preferably pushing deeply into her sex when he came, but she knew that he could not accept that. There was something chivalrous, frustrating and touching about the fact that he so desperately wanted any encounter between them to be his best. Even when he was able to keep the manifestation of his fears away, his mind still circulated doubt.

When he came, she held him up between the wall and her body, not anticipating the extent of the weakness of his body after orgasm. He finished his shower, after he finally convinced her to leave, not wanting her to see his tiredness, hoping that she would not see him fight to finish washing himself in the shower. After he left the bathroom, she had the covers pulled back on the bed and he sunk into the thick padding of the mattress and felt her pull the weighty comforter over his body and swoop against him.

Keeping the hallucination in check and trying to remain calm as the fear of a very real change loomed over him, his body and mind were tired enough to sleep, although fitfully. In the morning, he woke, even after sleep, still feeling tired.

As he got dressed, he heard the front door and voices, and eventually heard Cuddy stepping softly down the hall. When he looked up, she stood in the doorway, holding her daughter in her arms. "Are you ready?" Cuddy asked.

House nodded and trudged over to them. He kissed Cuddy on the cheek and then looked down at Rachel, uncertain of what to do. He picked up the little girl's hand and shook it, whispering, "Truce?"

Rachel giggled loudly, pressing her free, pudgy, opened hand on his and smiling widely.

"I guess that means she's willing to give it a try?" House asked.

Cuddy smiled her agreement.

In less than a half an hour, Rachel was secured in her car seat and Cuddy was driving the three of them down the highway. House dry swallowed a pill and wondered if it would be his last or if there would be time for one more.

"Driving in the car like a normal family," House's younger self said with a gag from the back seat. "Mommy, somebody else's baby, and an aging pill freak. Now there's a slice of fucking Americana."


	6. Tick Tox

_A/N-Thank you so much to all who are reading and all of you who took time to review: JM, IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, Iane Casey, lenasti16, JLCH, maria-eleni, jaybe61, OldSFfan, LapizSilkwood, CSINYLovexx4ever, jkarr, chebelle, Suzieqlondon, ammeboss, BJAllen815, freeasabird14, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, Boo's House, Huddyphoric, bonneiyy77, BabalooBlue, momsboys and the Guests._

_Trying for the next update by Wednesday._

* * *

-Tick Tox-

Rachel was mercifully quiet during the ride, falling asleep only a few minutes after they set out. Cuddy was relieved, imagining a scenario with an anxious House and a fussy Rachel trapped in a car together had Cuddy on edge. She wanted to wait, to keep the two separate until House was no longer hallucinating and the three of them weren't trapped in a car, but she had no other options as she tried to keep her world balanced.

The early spring sun gleamed through the spaces between the trees, so bright and hopeful that it was almost irritating. Cuddy drove them a little over an hour away, into the hilly, wooded areas northwest of Plainsboro. Young House rambled on, providing a ride-long monologue, a careful listing of reasons why everything that was going on was dangerous or undesirable. He seemed to grow more desperate as the ride continued, his claims growing more angry, irrational and erratic.

"Are you nervous?" Cuddy asked as they got close, driving up a long and mostly desolate road carved through dense woods.

"Right now?" House began, peering out the window, "I would let you hack off both of my legs to make him shut up. But yea, I'm still a bit…unprepared."

"You were off of Vicodin a few years ago, after the ketamine."

"She's indulging you," young House interjected, "she thinks it's all in your head…like…well, like me. In reality, the pain and I are both very, very real."

"I wasn't in pain while the ketamine worked," House replied.

"I was referring to your ability to function without opiates," Cuddy answered.

"There are a lot of milligrams between then and-" House began, stopping short as he looked out the window and stared at the signs along the edge of the road. "You weren't kidding. You really are going to have to dump my body somewhere. Where the fuck are you taking me?"

House was pointing at the sign when Cuddy said calmly, "It's just the location."

"She's having us put down," young House noted casually, "there's a shocker."

"The Feelin' Good Death Hotel?" House asked.

"No," she answered.

"How would you like me to interpret the phrase, 'The Dignified Solution to Your Final Days'? This is…a hospice?"

"Similar," Cuddy said, pleading him with gestures and glances to keep his voice down and avoid waking Rachel, but as she went on with her explanation, she became louder and her tone more urgent. "It's just the best location. You didn't want the hospital. I know the people who run this place. They put me on staff as a consultant…as a favor to me so I could do this. They have the staff to help me, the right equipment to monitor you, space for Rachel and I to stay so I can be with you both. I had a few hours to figure all of this shit out, what did you expect? We can go back to Princeton-Plainsboro if you prefer. I can't put you under sedation in my living room. If you crash, if something goes wrong, I need people there who can help me care for you. This isn't a flu shot, this is serious. I'm already putting a hell of a lot on the line to do this, but I need to do it responsibly. I needed an anesthesiologist who understands the interactions more thoroughly than I do, nurses to help me monitor you, and I simply don't have everything I need-"

House bumped her arm with his elbow and said, "Easy, woman. The kid's sleeping."

Her argument stalled. She was surprised at the tone he used and how bizarre it sounded to hear him say those words in the tone of voice that he did, so strangely familial. She started again more softly, "It makes more sense than you think. They have trained massage therapists here, people who deal with the management of extreme pain, hot tubs, psychiatrists and the right equipment. Not only do we have to get you functional, but we have to deal with the pain after the procedure. We need to keep the pain somewhat manageable or you'll go right back to the pills."

"And the theory that it's psychological?"

"She doesn't _think_ it's a psychological_,_ she _knows_ it's psychological," the hallucination interrupted.

"I don't think it's psychological," Cuddy responded. "I think psychological factors likely exacerbate your pain, but they aren't responsible for it. I also know that opiates can make accurate evaluation of pain levels tricky, so…hopefully there is less pain than what you think. If the pain was _only_ a manifestation of the chronic use of opiates and psychological elements, then why did you have success with the ketamine followed by pain when it wore off?"

House stared blankly, observing, weighing Cuddy's claims against the cynical beliefs of his vision.

"What?" she asked.

"I just assumed," House began, shaking his head and adding, "never mind."

"I do think your leg hurts. I also think that the other two factors aren't helping," she added. "See, this place…treating mind and body…attacking problems with all of the available tools, it actually isn't that crazy."

"It's…a good idea," House finally conceded.

"Is that sarcasm?" Cuddy asked, surprised.

"No. Requesting a bed so you can dope up the mentally unbalanced isn't on the list of available services at most facilities. Options were limited."

"It was the best option given the time I had to prepare," she responded.

"I was worried when we passed the horse farm back there."

Cuddy smiled, "If they wouldn't have taken us here, the horse farm was plan B."

There was not even a hint of levity in his demeanor or expression. As she crested the top of the hill, the facility and grounds opened up before them. There were two large buildings: an old colonial-era mansion and a modern medical facility, surrounded by meticulously kept grounds. "Rachel and I have rooms over here, that's my friends' place," Cuddy said, pointing at the estate home, "and your room will be over there."

House looked around, feeling the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. He had no comprehension of anything beyond a focus on the medical building where the treatment would take place and the space within Cuddy's car. The scenery, the people mulling about the grounds, all went entirely unnoticed by the man who noticed everything. Young House was behind him, slipping into the driver's seat once Cuddy left the vehicle. He whispered to House, "Hurry. We're running out of time. Take the keys and get the hell out of here."

Pretending that he did not at least consider the option would have been a complete lie. House knew that, in his weakened state, he could not easily hop into the driver's seat, and he was also completely aware of the baby napping quietly in the car seat behind him. Those two factors certainly figured into his increasingly scattered calculations, but the one fact that hung heaviest in his mind was that there was nowhere else to go anymore. Time had certainly run out. He could flee, escape treatment, run from his growing relationship and the possibilities of a drug-free existence and a different life, but he truly felt there was nowhere else to run. His only options were treatment or certain insanity, maybe even death.

House was startled from his assessment by the excited approach of a woman and two teenaged children who were coming to greet Cuddy and Rachel. House sat in the car while Cuddy removed the child from her car seat and handed her to the woman. The woman holding Rachel was excited about the baby in a way that was annoying and overwhelming, and between her gushing, his hallucination's griping, and the tight confines of the car, House felt like he could black out. When Cuddy leaned into the car to get Rachel's diaper bag, House looked at her, his lips pale and dry, eyes bloodshot and his skin grey. He said as firmly as he could, "Can we just fucking get this over with?"

Cuddy quickly stepped back from the car, kissing Rachel goodbye after handing off the diaper bag. She got back in and fastened her seatbelt, "Ready?" she asked, trying to sound positive as she pulled up to the front door of the facility.

She brought a wheelchair out from inside, claiming it was policy, but he guessed that she was lying. He lacked the energy to fight the assistance. His body was so antsy and uncomfortable, it almost felt like his insides were clinging to the molecules of Vicodin that remained in his body. After he sat in the wheelchair, he reached in his pocket, took the last orange pill bottle that he had, and handed it to Cuddy. "Let's go," House said desperately, hoping to cling to the last of his remaining resolve.

A member of the staff helped with House's belongings and they dashed in as quickly as they could. There were necessary formalities even after they arrived. Additional paperwork, blood work and the introductions of staff were obnoxious additions to the process. House looked through the paperwork, pulled out only the medical proxy and the POA, signed those papers and shoved the rest of the material back to Cuddy. The onsite notary completed the paperwork while House leaned back and closed his eyes.

His gesture was obvious, he was unable to make any further decisions. With frightening totality, he turned all of the responsibility for his person over to Cuddy. He sat on the bed, hoping for an end to the dizziness and uncertainty that were surrounding him. His younger self's voice broke into a dissonant choir of protestors, his own voices over time, his own words that were jumbled, mixed and so loud that he couldn't even focus on their taunting anymore. He looked over at Cuddy, who was already directing the staff around her, easily stepping into a leadership position in a way that made House feel somehow more assured.

Cuddy looked up at him from across the room, and when he opened his eyes, she could see the pain there and something akin to true terror. She stopped her work, and disappeared for a few moments, returning with a syringe. He looked at her questioningly. "Lorazepam," she informed him, "it's going to take a few minutes until I'm ready. We're waiting on the results from some of your blood work before the anesthesiologist will continue."

She could see some of the relaxation cover his eyes as the medicine took effect, but even like that, he still looked overwrought. His body was more relaxed but the noise was consistent. The next hour was blurry and long, and when the anesthesiologist finally approached, talking about risks and concerns, House ordered firmly, "I know the risks. I don't care. Just fucking do it."

The slightly balding and overly formal anesthesiologist nodded curtly and began.

House's last few moments of awareness were filled with discordant voices clamoring for his attention and then complete, startling silence. After a few seconds of stillness, the voice that had heckled him for days sounded crisply in his ear, "No matter what you do, you can't get rid of me. You'll go through all of this, you'll quit Vicodin, you'll quit Cuddy…you _will_ quit hope, and in the end all you'll get is me…me and your pain."

Cuddy rested a hand high on House's arm, feeling the sweat that was dampening the hospital gown. He remembered Cuddy whispering, "I'll be here when you wake up," and he felt her squeezing his hand as he lost consciousness.

Cuddy was prepared for the worst. She had always wondered how much he blamed her for his leg. Part of her felt vindicated after the ketamine seemed to work, but when he fell back into pain and Vicodin, there were always questions about how much blame he assigned her. During his rapid detox, all of the weight was on her shoulders. She was proxy and physician, girlfriend and professional. Part of her wondered how she would ever move on if she suggested this treatment option and things went wrong.

The anesthesiologist remained in the room while the treatment ran its course in case House began to emerge from sedation too soon. Rapid detox was far too painful to handle without sedation. House slept while the cocktail of drugs running through his body blocked the remaining opiates from having an effect on him. He argued, even under the light sedation, fighting with someone that Cuddy was unable to identify. When the treatment was nearly over, House's voice grew silent and he seemed to rest more easily.

She knew that he was regaining consciousness when she saw his hand move to his thigh and begin to rub it before his eyes were even open.

As House began to notice reality again, the very first sensation that he registered was the throb in his leg. He reached down to feel for it, smelling the sterile, medicated environment all around him and sensing the hospital bed beneath him, he began to remember where he was without opening his eyes. After noticing his leg pain, the next thing he confirmed was silence. Apart from the soft tick and whir of equipment around him, and the occasional sound of an automatic blood pressure cuff, everything was silent. He wasn't even convinced that he wanted to open his eyes, because he was unsure about what he would do if the angry face of his hallucination was staring at him. Then he heard a sound, just the negligible noise of a paper flipping over, and he could feel something on the bed near his knee.

He breathed deeply, summoning courage, and he allowed his eyelids to part. Cuddy sat next to him with a book on her lap. "That doesn't look like work," was the first thing House managed to say.

"How do you feel?" she asked with a nervous smile, putting the book off to the side.

He sat up a bit, suddenly gripped by the feeling that he was going to vomit and he began to heave although his stomach was empty. Cuddy found a cool washcloth, put it at his neck, and called for ice. They spent a few moments getting him comfortable and then House looked around the bright, open room.

"How's your leg?" she asked.

He looked down at it, rubbing a bit, "It's sore. It hurts, but it's not unbearable. About a six."

"You're due for ibuprofen. We're going to start with that. I'd like to avoid Tramadol. Contraindicated for people who've had issues with drugs before…or people with head injuries. It isn't even a year since they went digging in your head. That and the possibility of liver damage, it just seems like a bad idea."

"It's manageable, for now," House finally said. "More importantly, I don't see him. I don't hear him either."

"Good."

House pursed his lips in thought, but seemed to agree. "Interestingly, _he_ is gone, and _you_…are still here."

"I am," Cuddy nodded, focusing her eyes with a look that was supposed to be serious and certain, but seemed steeped in affection.

"I'm still tired."

"I can imagine. We'll keep the IV fluids going. Your potassium and iron were both really low, which doesn't help muscle cramping. You haven't really been eating, so we need to keep an eye on that. Anything we can do to help is worth factoring in. One of their massage therapists used to work with athletes. He's agreed to take your case. Later tonight, they're going to try to get you a decent meal. Nothing too heavy, but we have to get your strength built back up." House yawned, still sleepy, while she spoke, "Your massage therapist will be here in a little bit, just for a quick session to try to loosen up your leg and discuss treatment. Then you can sleep. I'll go check on Rachel, take her for a walk, this place is beautiful. Then I'll be back to check on you. You…gonna be OK?"

"Yes," he said irritably, "I'm a big boy."

She nodded, ignoring his irritability, "I wish I had my phone."

"How many times did you call the hospital?"

"Two," she answered proudly, feeling that she had exhibited remarkable self-restraint.

"Already?"

She slowly bobbed her head and shrugged, "I like my job, it matters to me. What can I say? But…I wish I had my phone because then you could call if you need anything."

"I'll be fine."

"Still."

"Get mine out of my jeans," House offered. "You can use that."

She went over to his jeans and pulled out the phone, doing a double take at the display. "Maybe I should leave this here."

"Why?"

"You have eleven missed calls…Pretty Lil' Blond?"

House smirked as he leaned his head back, "Chase…he misses me already."

Cuddy grinned, surprised that she felt a stab of jealousy that rapidly declined when she knew the true identity of the caller.

"I guess I'll be back in a little while," Cuddy said, pulling her hand back from his shoulder when she realized the gown was soaked with sweat. "Want some new clothes?"

House nodded, "and my pajamas. I'm not sitting around here with my ass hanging out."

"You want a shower first?"

He shook his head, "Too tired. Just the pajamas bottoms and a new shirt."

She brought a new hospital gown and his pajamas. "Keep the gown for now, you still need monitored."

After she began to help him, he put out a hand, "I can do it myself, mommy."

"Stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you."

"Tired of being helpless. I've got it," he confirmed as he pulled the clothes from her hand.

"Fine."

"You've been babysitting me for days. Leave my number with the nurse and go see your kid. Right now I just want to sleep and they'll call you if there's a problem. And don't call the hospital. You need to detox too."

Cuddy kissed his head, "I'll be back."

She went toward the door and stopped when she heard him say her name.

"Cuddy," he paused for a moment, while she turned back to him, "I won't forget this."

Her head tilted toward one shoulder caringly, "Be back soon."

After Cuddy left, House relaxed into his bed. This was certainly better than traditional detox, he skipped the most painful parts. He felt the way a person feels just when they start to turn the corner after a horrible bout of a stomach virus: body and head still ached, strength was low and fatigue was still prevalent, but he was damn relieved that he did not feel as sick as he did before he started getting better.

He felt his doubt still worming in his brain, the self-loathing presence that he had grown accustomed to was still there, although without a distinct voice or a visible presence. In the quiet of his room, alone, he acknowledged that there were some things in his head that at some point, he was going to have to deal with, but he knew he was not prepared for any of that. He went to sleep, feeling freer than he was that morning when he thought his insanity might get the better of him.

When he woke a few hours later, he found himself reaching for his Vicodin, and then he remembered that Vicodin was no longer part of his ritual. Feeling an unexpected melancholy, he wondered how long he would automatically reach for it, how often it would be among his first thoughts.

The door opened and a solid-looking man in track pants and a tight gym shirt walked into the room and stood in front of House, extending a hand. "James Gaines," the man announced with a hint of a southern drawl.

"How rhyme-y," House answered, ignoring the offered hand and closing his eyes, his fingers digging into his thigh.

"I'm here to help with your leg," James answered.

"Some other day," House replied, "I'm tired."

"Fine, tomorrow. For today, give me a brief history of your condition."

"Tomorrow."

"Tell me about your leg, pretty please?" James requested sarcastically.

House scowled at him, "I'm bringing in my own massage therapist."

"You don't want a guy touching you?"

"I don't want _you_ touching me."

"Because you think I'm not qualified?" James retorted, using his heaviest, most exaggerated accent.

House looked up at him, evaluating for a moment, and James dug his hands into House's thigh. House complained for a moment, ready to throw the younger man out of his room or do something to get rid of him, until James hit the perfect spot. House dropped his head back, completely relaxed, and he weakly answered, "Holy shit."

James let go, smiling for a second, "Got your attention?"

House nodded hesitantly.

"Did that help?" James asked in his normal voice.

"Yea, for a minute."

"Temporary solution only, but even temporary helps. Let's clear up a few things, I've had five years, sports medicine, traveling with a team. I know a lot about injuries and chronic pain, and I can help you."

"Must not be very good at it," House answered, "Otherwise you would be making a lot of money with a team instead of wasting away here, helping people cross over."

James smiled softly, "I moved here for a girl. Didn't work out. But now I'm here, so lucky you."

"How'd you get stuck with me?"

"I volunteered."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. First, and most importantly, I saw your doctor. I'll volunteer for anything she needs a volunteer for."

House thought his face was stoic, completely unreadable, until James began to laugh. "Now at least I have the honest answer," James said.

"What?" House barked.

"I saw her looking at you while you were under…I wanted to know if the feelings were mutual or if it was her one-sided crush. Now I have the answer."

House looked away, "Why did you really take the case then?"

"Well, crush or not she's still hot," James answered, "but…I blew out my knee, had my own fights with morphine. I could tell why you were here when I saw the meds they had you on, I've been around. I know why you don't _want_ to manage pain, you _need_ to, or your world will fall apart."

"I don't need a support group."

"I'm not offering one," James said, sounding dismissive. "I can help you manage your pain. Are you willing to put some work into it, or do you just want to wait for some pretty little girl to come rub your leg for you until the pain gets so bad that you go back to shooting up again?"

"I don't shoot up."

"If you're going to argue word choice with me, clearly you don't want to do something different. I'll get someone else to help you," James began walking toward the door. "Ask for Ashley…trust me, she's the hottest massage therapist on staff here. I'll leave my card for your doctor…she can call me when you relapse and die…next month…next year, whenever."

House choked his irritation, "I do occasionally."

"You do occasionally what?" James asked, while his hand reached for the door.

"If the pain gets too bad I'll shoot morphine…but usually it's just pills."

"An opiate is an opiate…regardless of delivery."

"I don't want to keep doing the same thing," House said, the words difficult because the willingness to try implied the hope of real change, which inherently held the possibility of disappointment and even more pain.

"Good."

"Not tonight, I'm tired. When I feel better."

"Tomorrow," James responded.

"Give me two or three days."

"Tomorrow," James insisted.

House tried to consider his bargaining chips, hearing the faint echo in his head that nothing would ever change, and he was doomed to be alone with his pain and his self-doubt. "OK," House answered finally, "tomorrow."

"Perfect. See you tomorrow," James replied with a victorious smile. Just as he opened the door, he paused to gesture Cuddy into the room. "James Gaines," he introduced himself, "I'll be helping your patient with some PT."

"Great," Cuddy smiled, shaking his hand, "Starting next week?"

"Tomorrow."

"I don't know if he'll be ready tomorrow," Cuddy began. "He needs to regain his strength."

"Oh, convenient, since that's exactly what I'm trying to do," James said with a wide, charming smile "and he was insistent. He will be ready, I'll go easy on him. The longer he sits around waiting, the stiffer those muscles will become, the more pain he'll be in, and the harder it will be to try to change."

"OK," Cuddy nodded hesitantly.

"Meanwhile, can I interest you in dinner tomorrow night after my first therapy session with Prince Charming."

"Oh, no," Cuddy shook her head, pointing involuntarily over at House in explanation, "I couldn't, I'm…uh…I can't."

James shook his head, looking back at House. "You guys are both so hard to read!" James said, giggling as he waved and walked out the door.

"What was that about?" Cuddy asked as she walked to House's bedside.

"He was testing a theory," House answered, staring at her face curiously.

"What?"

"You look so...what did you do today?"

"Took Rachel out, let her crawl around on a blanket by the pond. Took pictures of her looking happy. Little things that I usually don't have time to do."

Cuddy's skin was pinker from being outside, and she looked more alive than she had in quite some time, and clearly more relaxed. Even through the pain he felt during the last few days, House could see the toll it was taking on her. "Bonding time with Cuddy Junior," he recapped while she looked over his chart.

"You know you hear people say that time goes by so quickly? Ever since I adopted her, so many people have said, 'stop and enjoy your baby because kids grow before you know it.' Looking at her today, I could see how much she's already changed, and I've already missed stuff," Cuddy gestured for him to raise his arms while she tested the strength of them, and then checked to see if his grip was equally strong in both hands.

Cuddy checked his pupils and he answered, "Capturing everything is impossible."

"You're right," she answered evenly after a few minutes. "I just want to make sure to catch a few moments that count. Not to let it all go by with the assumption that there are always more tomorrows. Even if there are, they're not the same tomorrows," she continued while pressing the stethoscope to his chest and listening to his heart and lungs. When she was done, but before she shifted to his back, she added, "In five years, she's going to be pretty angry if I try to shove a bottle in her face and rock her before bed. Not that different tomorrows are better or worse, they're just different. Sometimes you have to grab certain memories while you can before it's too late." She listened to his back and then added, "At least that's what all of the experienced parents say."

She made a few notes on his chart, put it down on the tray table, and then asked, "How do you feel?"

"Still tired," he said, his eyes reflecting the statement.

"I don't know about starting PT tomorrow. You seem weak yet."

House pondered for a few moments and answered, "I don't want to sit and feel the pain or wait to relapse. You said it…not all tomorrows are the same."

"Do you feel like taking Vicodin?" she asked as she sat on his bed.

"I don't know, Cuddy," he answered tersely, then paused, "It's been part of what I do for a long time. Not doing it…is different."

"Let's keep you on IV fluids for tonight yet. In the morning, if you're doing well, we'll unplug you," she said, pointing at the monitoring equipment. "I'll see if they have some food for you, build up your strength so you're ready for PT."

"Not hungry," House answered, softly surrounding her wrist with his fingers. "Where's Rachel?"

"With my friend, sleeping. At least for now."

He moved over, creating a space next to him on the bed, looking between her and the empty space. "Stay for an hour?" he asked.

She stood, locked the door and returned to his side, sliding into bed with him. The desperation and anxiety had faded from his face, but she was still concerned about the openly vulnerable look in his eyes. Resting together, they awaited an uncertain but hopeful tomorrow while he easily returned to sleep.


	7. Fighting Bliss

_A/N-Hey there, thanks to everyone for reading, and to all of the reviewers: IHeartHouseCuddy, lenasti16, Boo's House, OldSFfan, jkarr, freeasabird14, JM, JLCH, Lapiz Silkwood, BabalooBlue, jaybe61, Suzieqlondon, chebelle, BJAllen815, Abby, Mon Fogel, HuddyGirl, Alex and CacauHousemaniaca._

_On the road the next day or two, so the update will probably be up over the weekend._

* * *

-Fighting Bliss-

At five-thirty in the morning, House was awoken by James Gaines' chipper voice, "Wake up, buttercup."

House's eyes popped open and he looked around. His thoughts cycled as he did his own morning self-assessment: his leg hurt, he wanted Vicodin, Cuddy was gone and his stomach felt painfully empty. "Five-thirty?" House asked irritably when he looked at the clock, "I don't do five-thirty. Come back later."

"This is your time slot. I start work at eight. You're an extra client. Rise and shine."

"I'm too hungry to-" House stopped abruptly when a protein shake in a pouch hit his chest.

"Drink that."

"I want actual food."

"Get actual food when we're done. Time to earn an appetite. Get up," James said sharply in a way that House felt was reminiscent of his childhood.

"I'm still hooked up," House argued tiredly, pointing to the IV and monitoring equipment around him.

"You aren't running marathons, just stretching."

"Yes, of course, _stretching_ will make the pain go away."

James sighed, "Stretching will _not_ make the pain go away. Look, if you assess your pain level at an eight on a scale of one to ten, that's debilitating. If stretching can make it one better, and proper nutrition with strength training can make it one better, then you're down to pain at a level six. Then you look at alternative therapies, different things work for different people, but, acupuncture or massage can probably give you another level of improvement, so now you're down to a five. Add soaking and heat therapy in, with some over-the-counter meds, that's another reduction in total pain level. Now you're down to a four. It's about whittling away the pain. You could also consider things like meditation and deep breathing, which might help your four feel more like a three. Nothing will eliminate your pain, but a combination of approaches will alleviate it."

"I'll deep breathe myself to happiness," House said as he tasted the liquid breakfast provided for him. "This stuff is disgusting."

"It's fuel, it serves a purpose," James answered. "Look, you can bitch and moan your way through this or you can try. I'm not going to beg you to do what you need to do. Yesterday, you said you wanted to try. I heard the words, now back it up."

House stared ahead and initially James was uncertain how his new patient was going to react. The patient finally answered, "It's really tight, I can barely move it. It's my first morning on fucking ibuprofen, so it hurts."

"All the more reason to move," James answered. "For today, we stretch and do some light strengthening. Tomorrow, we'll reevaluate and go from there."

Over the next half an hour, James exercised House's leg. They used cycling motions, leg presses and light stretches, and the short period of exercise was exhausting. House was sweating profusely from the combination of exertion and the intensity of the pain that he was enduring. Little was said while House devoted his thoughts to the work he was doing. When they took a break, James gave him a bottle of water. "Proper hydration…that helps with overall pain levels and definitely helps with muscle cramping. Obviously you don't want to over-hydrate, but forty ounces of water per day should be your goal."

James sat on the chair next to him and asked, "What do you usually do when it hurts?"

"Take Vicodin."

"What else?"

"Hot bath, massage, pacing."

"Do those things help?"

"A little."

"We can also start working on your body as a whole. Training one piece of a body is very ineffective, your body is a unit that functions together. If it's easier for your whole body to move, it takes some of the pressure off of that one part. Plus, endorphins can be a wonderful thing."

House was rubbing his thigh, feeling the pain screaming while James spoke. The therapist retrieved House's dose of ibuprofen and another bottle of water, and after House took it, James began to work on loosening the bunched up muscle. The advantage of James, in comparison to the hookers or other massage therapists that House usually hired, was the younger man's size and strength. James' hands were large and strong, able to work deep into the muscle, and he didn't seem to worry at all about applying too much pressure. After working on it for some time, James asked, "How does it feel?"

"It hurts."

"My friend," James said empathetically, "it will probably always hurt. So, I guess my question should be, is it manageable or not manageable?"

"Manageable," House answered, nodding with certainty.

"Good. I can talk with your doctor about muscle relaxers, but all of those are usually either habit forming or have some nasty side effects. If you can try to manage, let's stick with this. Can you do it or not?"

James' question seemed strangely direct and allowed little space for elaboration. "Yea," House answered, lost in thought.

James smiled as he looked on, seeing House's early attempt at drug-free living reminded the younger man of himself, "It's almost like waking up in a different dimension, learning to live clean. It will take some getting used to."

"So far, it hurts. I'm not huge fan," House replied.

"It's more vibrant isn't it? You'll want the Vicodin more, you'll feel the pain more thoroughly…_at first_."

"Lucky me."

This was a sensitive time in recovery, where a person could learn to treasure their new life, or begin to despise it. "Recovery is not easy. It's not a linear path. You'll have days that feel like the best days of your life, when you are so glad you aren't a slave to a pill. And some days will be horrible. Days when your cravings for the drugs feel strong, days when your pain will be worse, so you'll be willing to do anything to stop it. You have to hold onto the good days, and figure out how to survive the bad ones. What have you eaten since you got clean?" James asked.

"Jello. Chicken broth. This bag of breakfast you forced me to endure."

"Get a real meal. Eat it with good company. You've been living life through bubble wrap the last few years. You could feel the basics, but it isn't the same…when you're high, you get the less sensitized version of everything. Over time, your cravings for Vicodin will lessen. The cravings will always be there, but they'll turn more to whispers than screams and, if I do my job and you do yours, the pain will lessen too. Without the drugs, everything is more real, more intense. Your food will taste _great_, you'll see nature, and it will be more beautiful. When you get out of here, go hear a band play, because they'll sound even better. The bad things are more real…but so is everything else. Don't wallow. Get out and start feeling all of the stuff that will make you realize why you want to be clean. I'll see you tomorrow, five-thirty," James replied. "Eat well, stay hydrated, at least four times today, do some stretches, nothing rough. Don't let it bunch up. Get sleep."

Most of the rest of the day, House slept. His body was still recovering from everything he had endured, and even the small amount of exercise that he had was overwhelming. Cuddy came and went, checking vitals and chatting briefly, but he was asleep shortly thereafter. She unhooked his monitoring equipment, but kept the IV fluids running since she could not be sure if he would wake for food through his body's tiredness.

The following morning, James returned, repeating the previous day's exercises because House was still hooked up to his IV and seemed weak. House barely spoke and he seemed disconnected. When they finished for the morning, James said, "Today, your assignment is to get that meal, kitchen has one hell of a breakfast on Wednesdays. Get out of this room and go find a little joy…tasty joy. You aren't sick, you're just worn down. If you act sick, you'll feel sick."

"I'll tell that to the next patient I have who's vomiting up organs."

"Obviously sometimes people really are sick…but _you _aren't. I'm tired of looking at that thousand-yard-stare already. Rest for a few minutes. When that sexy doctor comes in here to stare at you with those beautiful, wide eyes, under the convenient excuse of doing your morning check, take her over to the cafeteria for breakfast. Find some joy."

House pressed down on his leg, roughly rubbing the muscle. "Do you honestly think that breakfast is the key to happiness?"

"This whole belief of happiness…that's half of the problem. I think people expect that someday they'll find this mythical happiness, the happily ever after, and then everything's fine. There is no ultimate state of happiness, not in this life. There are…moments of bliss. Addicts need to enjoy their moments of bliss thoroughly, and be prepared to absorb the moments that are less blissful, realizing that the worst times do not last forever and knowing that sometimes you learn more about yourself and everyone around you during the really shitty times. Find your joy, find your moments of bliss and live them. But remember, it's your responsibility. You can't expect moments of bliss to come find you while you're sleeping."

"I don't expect it to find me, it usually runs away."

"Then chase it. I'll be back, tomorrow, five-thirty. Then we go up to the rehab gym and I'm gonna make the rest of you hurt." James stopped at the door, pausing for a moment, "Go chase some joy, my friend. Refuse to let anyone…or anything…keep you from those moments. They are yours, you just have to claim them. Other patients in this building are awaiting death. You aren't."

After the session, House made it to the shower, where he sat for almost a half an hour under nearly scalding water, contemplating everything that James had said. When he was done thinking, House returned to bed and went to sleep again. Cuddy let him sleep until mid-morning and then went in to check on him.

She was quietly checking his vitals when he woke, and she saw him scowling at her with a dissatisfied look and a hand on his stomach. After turning on the brighter overhead light, she returned to her duties. "Stomach ache?" she asked while she checked his pupils.

"I'm fine," House said as he turned his head away and removed the pencil light from her hand.

"When did the nausea start?" she asked, pointing to the hand he had resting against his stomach.

"I'm not nauseous, I'm hungry," he answered.

"Really?" she responded happily.

"I'm glad my hunger pleases you."

"Certainly better than having no appetite."

"No, I mean, I'm _hungry_. Really, really hungry."

"They didn't bring you a tray?"

"I'm guessing Captain Muscles cancelled my tray so I'd take his advice and go get breakfast."

"I'll go find you something as soon as I finish your vitals," she offered, grabbing a stethoscope from the counter nearby. Placing it against his chest, she listened as his stomach roared its request for sustenance. "Change of plan," she granted, "We'll feed you first. I'll go get you something and I'll be right back."

"I'll come along."

"Just wait here," she began until she saw him rubbing his leg and thought that perhaps sitting in his room and thinking about his pain was not the healthiest of plans. "Give me one minute to grab a wheelchair," she said, dashing from the room before he could protest.

When she returned, he was already locked in the bathroom. Minutes earlier, when she walked out of the room, House felt a sudden urge to no longer be trapped there, either for the morning, or in the upcoming weeks. He wanted to be better, to sleep in a real bed, eat real food and experience the world without the veil of Vicodin.

When he emerged, he had forgone the hospital gown, disconnected the IV, and was dressed in sweats and a tee shirt, and he scoffed, "I'm not _that _sick."

"Your body is weak," she corrected, slapping his fingers away when he tried to remove the IV catheter that was still in his arm for future use, "so let's keep the fluids going until you've kept a few meals down."

House bypassed her and took a few shaky steps toward a chair where he sat and applied pressure to the wound where the IV catheter had been seconds earlier. He looked up at her with an expression of innocence that was entirely unbelievable.

"Do you actually expect me to believe that was an accident?" Cuddy asked.

House looked up into the air for an answer and nodded, "Yes, I do."

"Come here. I'll start a new one in the other arm in case we need to hook you back up."

"Come on, Cuddy, I'm starving," he whined.

"You have decided to trust me with your care. Now trust me."

"I will go along with your ideas…as long as they're not bad ideas."

"You need to build your strength back up."

"Which means that you need to take me for a meal. I need real food, Cuddy. I'm not sick, I'm just…not fully healthy yet," he said as he took steps toward the door.

"Are you actually trying to irritate me before lunch?"

"Admittedly, I don't usually like coming to work before noon," he teased. "I felt like I had a unique opportunity since we were both here. It isn't often that I can annoy you earlier in the day and at our mutual convenience."

Her arms were crossed and she tried to look irritated, but she could not stop the smirking of one corner of her mouth because she was actually happy that he wasn't blindly agreeing to whatever she wanted because he was too pained to fight her. For nearly a week, he had been like that.

She nodded to the wheelchair, "Hitch a ride if you want to come along."

"Fine," he answered, rolling his eyes and flopping his body into the chair. "You just want to push me around, serve me."

She was standing next to him, scowling and thinking before she answered, with flagrant sarcasm, "Of course, nothing makes me happier than to serve your grouchy ass."

"Play it off all you want, Cuddy, what you really want," he taunted, "is a man you can wait on hand and foot. Someone you can obey, a man to guide you through, provide you with your opinions…"

At that point she was no longer suppressing a smile, she was openly sneering, "You are trying to irritate me into letting you walk? Is that the game plan?"

House squinted one eye tightly in thought while he acted like he was searching the deepest recesses of his brain for an answer and then he said, "Is it working?"

She nodded, "Fine, we'll take it slow, I'll bring the wheelchair along in case you need it."

"I don't need it. If you bring it, it means you're assuming that I'm going to need it."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does," House answered. "Nothing happened to my leg, it's no different than it was. So let's go."

The first few steps down the hall were slow and tentative, but, by the time they reached the elevator, House's gait seemed somewhat improved. By the time they reached the cafeteria, he was back to his usual stride. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but not nearly as desperately as he did in the days just before his treatment.

A few minutes after that, sitting at a table well-lit by the mid-morning sun, House took a bite of the best breakfast he had ever tasted. Cuddy was lazily poking a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, and when she looked up, House's eyes were closed. "What's wrong," she asked, moving over to the chair next to him.

"Nothing," he answered with a tiny smile while he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Just tell me, what is it?" she asked, obviously concerned. "Your leg?"

He speared a bite of waffle and said, "This is the best waffle I have ever eaten." He held the fork out to her, encouraging her to take a bite, "Try it."

She gingerly pulled the bite of waffle from his fork with her teeth and chewed. After assessing, she shrugged and nodded, "It's pretty good."

He looked at her suspiciously, "Pretty good?"

"Yea. It's good. It's not the best ever, it's cafeteria food. But it's good."

"I don't know where you get your gourmet waffles, Cuddy, but this thing is amazing."

She leaned her elbows on the table, "Or you were just really hungry."

"I'm getting another one, before they switch to lunch," House said, standing abruptly from the table and hobbling up to the line.

He returned with two more waffles, cleaning both plates and happily swallowing down his coffee while Cuddy watched in amazement. She had never seen him eat so much in one sitting.

After they ate, they walked down the hallway and got into the elevator, where House hit the stop button. "I'd like to apologize for my lackluster performance as of late."

"We'll deal with work when we're back, I don't find your perf-"

"I mean personally," he said, taking a step closer, "intimately."

"Oh," Cuddy smiled, somewhat shyly, "I know you've been exhausted and I certainly wasn't interested in intimacy while you're being treated."

"Before that," he said, taking yet another step until she was in the corner of the elevator. "I mean last weekend."

"There was nothing 'lackluster' about your performance last weekend," she assured him. "I was not disappointed."

"I can do a lot better. My performance can be much more…luster."

Cuddy chuckled but looked down at the place where his fingers met her arm and watched them slip behind her elbow to keep her close. "I want you to concentrate on getting better," she added.

"I am…concentrating on that. I would like a date tomorrow night. My options for things to do are, of course, limited. My physical therapist-masseuse-one man support group-biggest fan James says that I should try to find moments of bliss because they will not come find me. That I'm supposed to kick bliss' ass if it tries to get away."

"Is that what he said?" Cuddy asked, one of her hands automatically moving to his side.

"It is. I thought it would be fun…for us to hunt it down…make good times our bitch."

Cuddy snorted a small laugh, "Sounds interesting."

"I feel we both deserve a better reunion than the one we had. I should warn you though, _they _say that the whole recovery thing can be tough. That I'll have good days and bad. So if you want a pass to walk away, you can have it."

"I'm not walking away," she said, almost offended.

"My overdeveloped little physical therapist also said that you can tell more about a person in the really bad times."

"That is often true," Cuddy answered.

"I just had a really bad time."

"You did."

"And…it told me a lot about you. It also told me a lot about what I want in life. I want a chance to convince you that maybe you want the same thing."

"Your PT guy was right, you can tell more about a person during the bad times. I've…learned about you too, and what I want. I was amazed by what I saw."

"Really?" he nodded, inching his face closer to hers.

He leaned on the rails of the elevator, hooking his cane there, and his lips hovered just a couple of inches away from hers while his eyes sought permission. He felt a surge of confidence at the nervous but excited look in her eyes. He felt he had the upper hand until she closed the small gap between them. Her mouth was on his in an instant, a heavy, full kiss that ponged and zipped throughout his entire body within a second. She backed away enough to speak, "Is this how you do it? Is this how we kick bliss' ass and make it our bitch?"

His eyes went to her smile, and he spoke softly, "I don't know really. I'm new at this." His lips moved delicately over hers while his hands slinked onto her body. "It feels right, so far."

Her eyes flirted back as she lifted on her tiptoes, took his face in her hands and she kissed him decisively, without hesitation. Their lips and tongues moved against each other, finding both a rhythm and harmony present even in a kiss. His hands slid across her shoulders, down the slope of her spine and along her full hips, both moving easily from one spot to the next while firmly grasping her and claiming her body while promising more. They tried to break their kiss several times before they were successful, either lips, hands or arms doing something to reignite their passion each time it began to cool. Her fingers latched on his belt loops below his back to pull him closer while his hands boldly grabbed onto her ass to pull her against him, and she hear him sigh with grateful expectation.

To him, it felt as enticing and unexpected as his very first kiss, something new and unfamiliar. He also felt the craving, the yearning for more contact, for sex and intimacy and an act that would consensually combine power and vulnerability with sheer ecstasy. James' words were correct, everything was more vibrant. This kiss, her hips, mouth and hands, everything felt new and intense, and he knew with certainty that he wanted more of everything that was happening. He wanted it so much it was almost intimidating. He could vaguely hear the inexperienced voice of his youth, wanting to taste and try and experience everything, and remembering the nervousness beneath the excitement and the hope that things were about to feel so much better. He felt he was all at once novice and expert, follower and followed, provoker and provoked.

She heard the noises coming from them in sighed but muffled moans and little whimpers. His kiss was hungry, nearing desperate and she realized that she had never been kissed like that before, not even by him. He was like a man freshly freed from a horrible prison. Beneath the intensity, she wanted to be part of that place of bliss that he wanted to find.

The soft ringing of the elevator emergency phone brought them to their senses. When they parted, he leaned back against the wall, one arm uncertainly around her. She quickly assured the man on the other end of the phone that they were fine and hung up. House asked, "So, does this mean we're on for tomorrow evening?"

"I really hope so," she answered, releasing the break on the elevator and leaning back into his side.


	8. Exceptions

_A/N-thanks to all who have reviewed since the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, BabalooBlue, Guest, Huddyphoric, JLCH, lenasti16, jaybe61, jkarr, dmarchl21, chebelle, Vicpei, ikissedtheLaurie, LapizSilkwood, OldSFfan, Abby, BJAllen815, Boo's House, HuddyGirl, Alex, freeasabird14, LoveMyHouse, LittleGreg, momsboys, Suzieqlondon, JM and Mon Fogel._

_Thanks so much to all of you for your continued support. Technically it's still the weekend where I live…but barely. Sorry this update so long. Shooting for the Tuesday night/Wednesday morning time frame for the next update._

* * *

-Exceptions-

That afternoon, House went to his first meeting with the facility psychiatrist. The meeting did not go well. He went to the appointment in a good mood, and left in a much worse one, determined to never return. By the time Cuddy came to check on House for the evening, he was already asleep. He slept well, yet again, a strange change in his years' long routine.

That night, he dreamt. In his dream, House was returning to work, feeling healthy, confident and strong. He kept finding Vicodin stashed throughout his office, but repeatedly ignored the bottles with little difficultly. He went to a patient's room, finding not his patient, but his younger self, the same nasty, negative and angry person he had encountered as a hallucination. His younger self tossed him a large bottle of Vicodin and said, assuredly, "People never change. Fighting who you are only postpones the inevitable. Step one…ditch the shrink. Well done."

At that moment, in his dream, House's leg seized, the pain coursing through his body while he tipped back the bottle of Vicodin and swallowed a pill. While doubled over in pain, the taste of Vicodin still on his tongue, his younger self began to laugh, "I told you…you can't get rid of me. I'll see you around."

House woke, sitting straight up and gripping into his thigh, prepared for the same hideous, searing pain in his leg that he had felt in his dream. He opened his eyes slowly, looking around the room, trying to asses his reality. The strangest relief flowed over him when he realized that, although his leg did hurt, it was nothing like the pain in his dream. As quickly as he felt relief, his mind returned to the problem of his persistent, angry, younger self.

Initially, he dismissed the dream as an indication that he wanted to avoid relapse and the pain that could drive him to such an outcome. While he was getting dressed for the day, he began to wonder if the angry, self-loathing and wounded thoughts that existed in his head might be just as dangerous as his physical pain. He had few ideas about exactly how to address the concerns that lingered after his hallucination, he certainly was not going to talk to the on-staff psychiatrist, but he could not easily dismiss the voice that was finding a way to follow him after detox.

James was pleasantly surprised to find House not only awake, but dressed and ready for their morning session. The trainer was equally surprised the House had no interest in a wheelchair or assistance as they made their walk to the other end of the building. In spite of House's apparent readiness for the day, he was quietly introspective.

They began their work with stretches and strength training, largely in silence. House seemed open to James' suggestions and paid careful attention to the instructions provided. The trainer was excited by House's willingness and the change that occurred after only a few days. Then James pointed to the treadmill. "Step right up," he said casually as he tapped the display.

House grumbled, half-joking, "I'll get right on that ten mile run."

"No one said you had to go ten miles," James answered as he stood by the machine, patiently waiting.

"I can't run. I can't even walk on that thing," House said, irritated that the able young man in front of him seemed to so nonchalantly suggest something that was going to be so horribly painful.

"I saw your file. For a brief time after you were treated with ketamine, you could run. If the muscle strength was there then, it could be again."

"Screw muscle strength, that isn't the issue. The issue is the intense pain I feel when I'm trying to do things like that. You're strong enough to run twenty miles, but if I put jagged rocks in your shoes, eventually the pain will make it impossible to continue."

"I'm not asking you to run," James clarified, "I'm asking you to do what you always do. The very same thing you do to combat pain normally…pace. We'll start with that, and see where we go from there."

"I pace with a _cane,_ at a speed that I control. I can stop without flying off the back."

"There are arm rails, use those in place of your cane. And, we _can_ control the tempo of the treadmill."

"You have no fucking clue what it's like, do you? To be in pain like this," House asked, angrily, but not loudly. "It's there every day. You think somehow that I can just work through the pain, that somehow it's all about whether I'm tough enough to handle it."

"That isn't what I think," James answered calmly.

"You think that because you hurt your knee playing whatever fucking sport you played and then developed a taste for pain relief that you understand what this is like? You think hurting your knee is the same thing as living every day in constant pain? Your knee rehabbed. You can walk without pain, sleep without pain. You wake up and you don't have to worry about any of that. Just because you hurt at one time doesn't mean you get pain."

"I get pain."

"You don't. I can't turn it off. I can't promise myself that one day it will stop, because it never fucking stops."

James took a step back and started to take off his shirt. House responded, looking away, "Is this the part of today's schedule where we measure our dicks to see-" House stopped dead when he returned his gaze to James.

The younger man had his shirt lifted about half way up his torso, revealing a series of healed burns and wounds along his body. Then he turned, exposing his spine and the scars from what appeared to be several surgeries. House stared, blinking while he processed the visual information in front of him. James still said nothing, pulled his shirt back down and returned to the treadmill saying, as calmly as before, "I get pain. Ready to continue?"

House shook his head, "You said…you said you blew out your knee."

James nodded, "Perhaps a bit misleading," the younger man stooped to pull up his pant leg, using his knuckles to tap on a prosthetic leg that House was certain he would have noticed had he not been so overwhelmed with the events of the last few days. "Blew out…blew up…same thing."

"Why didn't you mention that?" House asked quietly, still stunned.

"Well, technically, my knee doesn't hurt anymore. Phantom pains in the leg now and then, but certainly not chronic pain. So you win there. I do, however, have chronic pain in my back. Every day. I can't turn it off."

"What happened?" House asked, his expression open and curious.

"You owe me a half-mile for what I already told you. If you want me to answer anything else, that will take another half-mile."

House looked away, obviously pondering. "You were a Marine, right? I can practically hear it."

James stared ahead, unwilling to answer any further questions about himself, but waiting by the treadmill.

"Can we negotiate?" House bargained. "Can we just walk? The halls here, the parking lot. We can go just as far. I'm more comfortable doing that."

"It's because of your posture. Your back and shoulder are taking the brunt of your weight unevenly. On the treadmill, with the bars on either side, you can pick up your weight with both arms…thereby reducing the pain and strain on your right shoulder, right arm and back…you'll be walking upright. Better for your spine. I don't want to work on your leg, only to mess up your spine. We'd be creating a whole different problem. My goal is to make your overall quality of life better, not worse."

"Ultimately though, I'll be walking with the cane everywhere else."

"True. You will always need your cane, but if we build up your strength enough, it's my hope that you'll need the cane a little less. You didn't need it when you weren't in pain…so like I said, the strength is there. We just have to manage the pain. Your brief period without pain tells us a lot. If you could walk cane-less then, even jog, the possibility is there that you can do those things if we can manage the pain."

James walked over to a backpack that he had in the corner, and pulled out a large stack of articles and books. "You're a doctor. These are the things I've compiled while considering your particular situation. Some of it, you'll think is crap. Some of it, you may find relevant." He dropped the stack down on a table and added, "I'll leave all of this stuff with you. Research it for yourself. If there's something you want to try, we'll look into it."

House took two steps over toward the stack of information and James said, sternly, "Not on my time. This is my time…so for now, you walk."

Looking between the papers and the trainer, House reluctantly made the decision to go to the treadmill and stepped up. The pace set was a bit slower than what House could have handled, but by the end of the long morning session, his leg's endurance was running low.

James patted House on the back and helped him down from the treadmill to a waiting chair and a bottle of water. James was quiet for the first time in days. He opened the hot tub room, leaving House there to soak.

House emerged from the hot tub, more relaxed and quite exhausted, finding James staring at the stack of papers. The two walked back to House's room. House seemed tired, but still strong after his session. When they got to his room, James said, "Well done today. I know that was tough."

House looked at him, "What happened to you?"

"You didn't do the extra half-mile."

"I'll owe you."

James smiled, his personality emerging from the quiet once again, "I have to go. I have a meeting with your doctor."

"Cuddy?"

"We're on first name terms already," James gloated.

"That actually means she doesn't like you," House retorted then paused. "What are you two meeting about?"

"Maybe you?" James said, revealing the absurdity of the question through his tone. House looked like he was thinking again, so James added, "Your treatment options and follow through. You're doing great. We're both making sure that we are doing whatever we need to do to make sure you keep doing great."

"We have a…date thing. Tonight."

"Need me to talk you up?" James teased. "Put in a good word?"

"No, she likes troublemakers. You put in a good word, and it may ruin my chances."

James smiled and then nearly whispered, more seriously, "Most people don't know about my health issues. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Recovering from trauma of that magnitude is quite an accomplishment. Why hide it? I'd assume you would love to inspire your patients."

"Most of my patients are terminal. They aren't hoping for recovery, they're hoping for death," James answered. "I hope you want something more. See you tomorrow, same time."

* * *

Cuddy checked on House briefly in the morning after his PT, and they agreed to meet shortly after dinner that night so she could have the afternoon with Rachel. After a short rest, House decided it was time to make strategic acquaintances around the facility to plan the date. Having a project to scheme about felt good and his mind was focused.

He felt his experience of the world sharpening a bit, and even in the controlled and relatively boring environment he was in, there were questions that needed answered. Planning a date from inside the facility was certainly not impossible, but presented some challenges. His first thought was to sneak away from the facility for a few hours, but it seemed almost like cheating and the challenge was fun. Additionally, in the quiet moments, his mind played through the question of exactly who James Gaines was, and what had happened to him. House also worked his way into grumpy old Delores' good graces. Delores ran the kitchen and dining room. Marvin, who ran facilities management, was also a valuable ally, and one easily won.

Wearing jeans for the first time since his arrival, House felt pretty good, although a bit sore from his morning therapy. It almost felt nice to have muscles ache that were not in his leg. When it was time for their date, he was ready. Cuddy walked into the room and he forgot nearly everything that he had been planning. She was dressed casually in tight jeans and V-neck top, both of which complimented her figure. She looked like someone on a date, not a doctor who was responsible for his care.

He was sitting on a chair in his room, not in his bed, because he didn't want to look like a sickly man in need of care anymore. She had seen too much of that for his liking. Standing just a few feet inside his door, the bright lights of the hallway threw her figure into silhouette against the more subtle lights of his room. He stood from his chair, taking the few steps to stand in front of her and swinging the door shut with his cane. He wasn't over her in the tall, imposing way that he sometimes was, he was nearby, approaching openly.

She felt oddly more uncomfortable by his open approach than she would have felt if he was standing over her or trying to stare into her soul. She crossed her arms, hoping that she appeared casual and relaxed, but looking as uncomfortable as she felt. "Good day?" she asked.

"Yea," House replied. "You?"

She shifted, thinking, "I met with your PT guy. He likes you."

"A man of discriminating taste."

Cuddy smiled, sort of shyly for a second, and then shook her head to toss the hair back from her face and regain her confidence. "What do you want to do tonight?" she asked, assertively, "anything planned or do you just want to wing it?"

House seemed distracted for a moment until his eyes locked on her face and he said, rumbling silently, "Hunh?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yea, thinking."

"About what?" she asked, nervously preparing for the possibility of rejection.

He took a small step closer and leaned down, bracing his hands on his cane, which was between them, and kissed her. The kiss was not uncertain, it was slow, heavy and full against her lips, and neither of them made any efforts to end it quickly. They were still separated by space and his firmly planted cane, but she reached up with one hand, her fingers gently dropping onto his neck one by one, the soft pad of her thumb making contact last, gracefully stroking along his scruffy cheek.

She backed away first, her smile hopeful, affectionate and subtly searching.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, his eyes more alive than she had seen them since before Amber's death.

"Sure," she nodded, returning his lively gaze. "What are we doing?"

"A few options. It's nice out."

"It is," she confirmed.

"I'm also hungry."

"Me too."

He looked down at her lips and his own powers of observation seemed as alert and honed and peaked as the rest of his person. He was reliving the kiss from moments earlier in his mind, remembering every little slice of feeling, every sliver of sensation. He felt hypnotized by the simple rhythm of her breath, so entranced that his own inhalations and exhalations fell in time with hers. He moved his cane to his side, with a brief thought about the fact that he had plans for the evening that were stored in his mind, and he didn't care about them in the least.

He moved forward decisively, but not hurriedly, his left arm never hesitating as it worked its way around her and pulled her body tightly flush against his own. His cane dropped against a chair, sliding slowly to the ground while the two of them kissed. Her reaction was as eager as his body's own reaction, as he felt every curve of her against him from the cap of her shoulder to the ridge of her kneecaps. She pulled away unexpectedly with two smaller promissory pecks before she retreated to the door to lock it and immediately returned to him.

His mind was less coherent, his thoughts less organized, as his need for her resounded in his head. So many needs roared at once. Part of him remembered the emotional words she had expressed when he was so sick and vulnerable, and he wanted to remind himself of that again because that piece of the memory felt good. His body wanted the same reassurances, expressions and contact. He needed touch, craved it, wanted to experience it with his heightened awareness and with the woman who was looking at him in the way that she was. Cuddy wasn't pitying him anymore, she desired him, had feelings for him.

Once she was back at his side, the hesitation was still missing, she felt his mouth slide along her neck and he asked, "Does the locked door imply consent?"

She smirked, because she was clinging to him, sighing luxuriously when his mouth would provoke such a response, and she knew the locked door was the most subtle of the ways that she was implying consent. For several moments, all of their contact was over their clothes, almost desperate pawing, but no venturing beneath fabric or groping of more intimate places until her fingers lifted his shirt away from his body just far enough for her fingers to make contact with his skin. The muscles of his stomach fluttered a bit when she touched him, partially because her fingers were a little cold, but mostly because they were unexpected, her skin like silk, both soft and smooth, creating a sensation on his skin that both tickled and enticed. "I'll try to imply things more clearly," she finally replied, leaning her body into his while his arms tightened around her.

She kicked off her shoes and started pulling his shirt away, he helped her move more quickly, every subsequent move was impatient. Their encounter several days earlier had a beautiful patience, punctuated by underlying sadness and compassionate love as the two sought comfort. This encounter was different, desperate and lusty, an expression of something both affectionate and desirous, an indication of both their feelings and the attraction between them. They separated a bit so they could disrobe, both helping each other and themselves. He stopped her for a moment when she was down to her bra and jeans, splaying his hands along her stomach so he could watch while she slipped out of her bra. His hands went to her breasts as his mouth returned to hers. His fingertips seem to register more sensations and felt more dexterous while they moved along her body.

He popped the button open on her jeans, groaning as he exposed inch after inch of pale, silken skin. She pushed him backwards to his bed, her hands simultaneously teasing him and opening his jeans before he hastily pushed the clothing from his body. He sat on the bed, pulling her on him while he lay back. His back encountered the raised upper portion of the bed, and she giggled softly while his hands reached for the controls to recline the bed fully. He smirked when he felt her body moving with gentle laughter during the bed's slow journey to flatness. To him, she felt like happiness.

His hands moved to her legs, the stretch of his grasp circling around her thighs. She moved over him, almost immediately aligning their bodies so she could take him inside of her, but he stopped her, carefully rolling her under him. He wanted to take care of her, please her, show her that he was not the weak and tired man she had sex with recently, the man she had to take care of, the man who could barely walk on his own. In his mind, she deserved more.

She was rushing, wanted him more, needed him immediately, and pulled his body down on hers. She curled one leg around his waist, the other foot trailed along his leg, wrapping around him. He buried his face into her shoulder, registering the smell and feeling of her while he lunged forward into her body. He groaned loudly as his body melded into hers, as their shapes conformed. He felt the gentle stretch of her body to accommodate him and each inch's progression into her made him less aware of the world's static and more aware of the moment.

He tried to be still, allowing her body time to adapt and trying to allow himself time to compose, but nothing seemed to deter the steady retreat of his hips and the required rock forward, his physical need overwhelming his desire for self-control. Her mouth went to his, her tongue flicking along his lip, prompting his reaction, begging for a response. It took every ounce of control that he had not to plunge into her, driven only by his own hunger. It was a careful balance between pleasing and being pleased, giving and taking, desire and control. He moved in her a few times, seeking both the literal and figurative warmth she could provide. He belonged where he was. Her hips lifted to encourage his movement, and when he did not respond as furtively as she wanted, she climbed her legs higher along his torso, wrapping them around his ribs so she was angled up toward him. He lifted his upper body higher, bracing his weight on his hands, allowing the heaviness of his pelvis to press down on her and watching her gasp out her pleasure when he would rock against her. She was overcome by the sensations and just moaned, "Want you, god I want you," several times in a way that sent a heavy jolt to his sex that made the fulfillment of his desire become critical.

He took one lazy retreat from her body, trying to slow them down, and she tightened her legs and pleaded with him to continue for the entire night. Her look was desperate, her eyes on his face as he pushed deeply into her, lowering his upper body closer to hers again, pausing for a moment to hold her tightly against him. Finally he began to move as vigorously as he needed to, yielding to her pleas for more and his body's appeals for completion. She lifted her body, easily meeting the unforgiving pace he was setting. Her arms wrapped more tightly around him when her clit began to pulse insistently and she cried out, he tried to cover her mouth with his, to swallow her cries because they needed to be quiet, but yet he wanted to hear her, he wanted to hear her plead and beg for him. She was barely returning his kiss, sloppily allowing her mouth to move against his as she lost control. As her body was surging against him, her sex clenched down on him, spasming so roughly that he could feel each convulsion. Her fingers grasped at his back and when her fingernails scratched into his skin, her desire, response and total loss of restraint demolished his tentative hold on self-control. Groaning loudly while his brain completely short-circuited, his entire being existed at the meeting of their bodies for a few perfect seconds. He fell to the bed next to her, pulling her against him and he sighed, happily.

"Oh my god, you seem to be feeling better," she said, complimenting him breathlessly.

He nodded, holding her close and appreciating a moment where there was no need. After a few moments, he casually commented, "That wasn't exactly the date I had planned."

"It wasn't?" she giggled.

"I can't help but wonder _why_ this wasn't what I planned," he chuckled. "this was the perfect date. Inexpensive, very little awkward conversation, we really connected."

"So now I'm cheap?" Cuddy asked lightly.

"I should still feed you. It's the least I can do," House said, dramatically. "I made friends in the kitchen. Delores saved us some eats."

"Delores?"

"Runs the kitchen. If only I met her before you."

"Can you refrain from thinking about other women for at least an hour after we make love? I feel that's a good general guideline."

"She already broke my heart," House jokingly moped, "she's married…she just doesn't see me that way."

"That makes me, what? I'm your consolation prize? Rebound?" she teased.

House stared at her, saying nothing at first, with a look that aptly conveyed his feelings for her. Her fingers were skating along his arms and chest while she enjoyed the presence of him next to her. He could feel everything, the dip in the bed next to him, the distinct touch of each of her fingertips, the smooth way her legs were interwoven with his. During years of existence under the influence of narcotics, the only thing that was so vivid was pain. He was finally having an opportunity to have the rest of his world come alive as well.

"You want to get dressed, get our food? Do the stuff I was supposed to do earlier to earn the lovin'?"

The end of his sentence cracked a little, the feeling of her legs against his was distracting. The calf of one of her legs moved seductively between his, and his thoughts immediately flashed to the memory of her wrapped around him. Her fingers moved to his neck while she started to kiss his jaw and he could feel her warm breath on his skin. The combination dizzied him and he was trying to come up with a comment, with some response, but he was already finding coherent thought complicated.

"We could," Cuddy sighed, taking his hand and moving it to her hip, "but we'd have to get up and get dressed and then we'd have to take our clothes off all over again to do what I want to do. Very ineffective use of time."

"You know how I hate being ineffective."

"I do."

"What do you propose then?"

She circled her hips against him, her hands pressed firmly against his lower back, "More sex now. Food later," she said simply.

"I don't usually like to go off schedule," he teased while he wrapped one arm more tightly around her and allowed his other hand to drift to the swell of her breast, "but I guess that I could make an exception this once, just for you."


	9. Manly

_A/N-So many thanks to all of you who've favorited or followed this story, and to all who have left a review since the last post: IHeartHouseCuddy, Boo's House, freeasabird14, jkarr, dmarchl21, lenasti16, IWuvHouse, chebelle, LapizSilkwood, JM, JLCH, BabalooBlue, jaybe16, LoveMyHouse, Little Greg, Iane Casey, ikissedtheLaurie, Suzieqlondon, byte size, BJAllen815, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, LiaHuddy and Mon Fogel._

_I'll try to have my next chapter ready for Friday/Saturday.  
_

* * *

-Manly-

The next few days were more of the same, filled with physical therapy, sex, sleep and learning to manage pain. Cuddy spent her days with Rachel and nights with House, always leaving before her daughter woke. PT was too intensive to do much chatting with James during the sessions. One of House's biggest concerns was the fact that his former hallucination was still visiting him in his dreams.

One morning, after they were at the facility for a full week, Cuddy stirred in the early hours, waking House before she left just as she had every night since their routine began. She was just out of the shower, chasing her outfit across the cold linoleum floor, slipping on bits and pieces of clothing as she found them. House sat up, watching her piece together her outfit. "You should stay," he suggested.

She stopped dressing, looking at him somewhat stunned. "You want me to?"

"You don't _have_ to stay," he countered quickly, "but you don't have to go either."

"I do have to go…Rachel."

"Who's with her right now?"

"My friend is staying with Rach while she sleeps. I have to get to bed so I can get a little bit of sleep and be there when Rachel wakes up."

House nodded without reaction.

"Look," Cuddy said, "Maybe when you're feeling better you can come over to where we're staying after she goes to sleep. It'll be like a normal evening at home, then you can stay for the night. I won't have to get up and run off before daybreak. If you're comfortable and you feel like it, we can all have breakfast together after your session with James."

"OK. What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? You should probably be under observation for at least a few more days. I probably should not have been here, doing the things we were doing, so soon."

"I'll be with my doctor so I think I'll be OK. You did a hell of a job keeping me under observation so far. I don't think I've ever been so devotedly _observed_ before."

Cuddy smiled, concerned, "Probably not the most professional behavior on my part."

"Don't do that. I'm not sick. I'm here under observation as a technicality and so I can get advice and PT from my little southern friend."

"Still. I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

"You did. You are. I'm not sick anymore and I don't want to be treated like I am."

"Pretty sure I'm not treating you like you're sick."

"No," he leered, "you are not. So don't start now. I'm fine. I told you before, don't punish me for getting clean."

"I'm not. But I don't want to endanger what you're working for either. We have to make sure you're getting what you need."

"If that was really the case, you'd come back to bed. That's what I need."

"You know I want to," she stated, walking over to him and sitting down on the edge of the bed, "I'd love to sleep next to you. See if you can defy logic and have sex with me again."

"It's not about logic, it's about inspiration," he said while he looked her over, his hand appearing on her thigh as if from nowhere.

She squirmed a little, immediately, the direct and irrepressible reaction to his touch. "I think you could probably use some rest," she suggested.

He shook his head. "Don't need some rest. You have no idea how good you feel. How good it feels to…feel like this."

He stopped talking altogether, realizing that he never really spoke about his new feelings post-Vicodin. James mentioned them, discussed what House could expect to feel, but House hadn't spoken of it with Cuddy. She had no personal frame of reference. It seemed almost bizarre to admit the amplification of life to her. It was like admitting that his problem might have been even bigger than she had thought.

"Tell me," she said, her expression not one of horror or concern, but one of excitement. "What is it like? How is it different?"

He wanted to clam up, kiss her, send her back to her room so she would not see any more of him, but her look, the thrill she seemed to have about his improvement encouraged him.

"It's…more intense. Everything. When I feel shitty I feel…I can feel really low, but I can also feel everything else. I don't remember sex feeling like this. I don't remember anything feeling like this. I'm sure it did to me once, but in comparison to numbness it's drastic. Last week, I felt…," he looked up at her as the two remembered exactly how sick he was only days earlier.

"I was worried," she began, looking down, "I was concerned that, once you quit, everything was going to be about pain and that your life would feel miserable."

"It's not. It hurts, I'd really like to figure out how to fix the hurting, but the good stuff…," he mumbled an addendum, "I just hope I can keep it."

"What?" She asked, stunned out of her moment of relief. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I want to," he answered. "It's just…me."

"You can do this."

He smiled stiffly, pressing his lips tightly together and nodded. "I dream about him. The guy from my hallucination."

"Oh," Cuddy answered with surprise. "Maybe that's because your subconscious is worried about him. About what he means. Lots of dreams are about fears. Kids and monsters…adults showing up to work naked, both common dreams about fears."

"Maybe. Or it means there's a bunch of garbage in my head that I need to figure out what to do with."

"Did you try going back to the psychiatrist?"

"We didn't see eye to eye."

"On your recovery?"

"On anything. We went from intros to hatred in ten seconds."

"We can see who's in the area. Make some calls and pick a different one."

"I doubt they'll be much better, the last one I saw was the same. Psychiatrists are idiots."

"If they're all idiots," Cuddy replied, "you might as well see the idiot who is already here. You don't have to like her."

"I don't even want to sit in the same room with her," he countered.

"You _are_ the case. I could do the detox part…figure that out. As far as what's going on in your mind, we need an insider for that one. We need you. When you crack cases, you always use someone to bounce ideas off of…your team, a janitor, Wilson…sometimes me. And sometimes the things that trigger the right answer come from random people who make a comment that helps click everything into place. You don't have to like her, you don't have to agree with her, but her information may be helpful and something she says might tip you off _while _it's irritating you."

He looked as if he was pondering the thought, weighing the possibility.

"Think it over," Cuddy suggested, "you could always use her in a sort of…devil's advocate role. Then you could also talk things over with James, me, you could call Wilson or have him visit, you could even bounce ideas off of Delores," she said, adding under her breath, "if you can keep your hands off of her."

House flashed a quick smirk and answered, "There's no way. Delores is irresistible."

Cuddy kissed him quickly, "I need to get back to my room."

The moment her arms wove around his neck she could feel his breath deepen, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. The tiniest moan of approval emerged from her body and he took his cue, sitting up toward her, allowing his hands to cross on her back. Even the slightest contact between them acted as a spark too near a deeply incendiary circumstance. "If we have sex again, I'll end up here for at least another hour…probably more," she gasped out, pushing her body closer to him, her hands pulling his head closer to her in spite of her words.

"Damn," he griped, "after I tried so hard to get rid of you."

She pulled away and smirked through her attempted admonishment, the punch of her reprimand falling well short of deterring him, "I was saying that I'm not going to feel like running out afterwards. I have to get back and you have James coming in a few hours. House was looking at her with the face of a person listening sympathetically, nodding his head, his expression sincere. Although he looked like he was captivated by her words, his eyes glued to her face, he was unbuttoning her jeans and slipping them back over her hips and down her legs. In addition to a look that was supposed to convey devoted listening, he added an attempted look of innocence while he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down as well.

"I'm listening," he added while he pulled her toward the bed and guided her down onto the mattress.

"You think I'm going to cave that easily?" she asked, her voice one of a woman who wanted to be unrelenting.

"This is the one argument with you that I almost always win." He kissed her lips briefly while he hovered over her with a smug and confident grin before he slid back down the bed to rest between her legs. "One more time before you go."

"I really-" she started, pausing while he leisurely moved along her sex with his tongue. She breathed harshly out her nose, following the exhalation with a tiny, aroused moan. "I really shouldn't," she said finally, grasping the back of his head and pulling him to her, contradicting her words with her actions.

* * *

The next time she woke, she cursed at the clock, quickly gathering her clothes. House sat up to say goodbye and she ordered, chuckling, "Put your hands on the mattress and keep them there."

His look was devilishly mischievous while he placed his palms flat on the bed and waited for her to approach. She leaned in to kiss him, her feet planted a ridiculous distance away. "I have to go," she smiled, "see you in a few hours for morning check."

Cuddy dashed from the room, finding James walking in the front door as she was walking out. "Hey there," James said, with a friendly smile, "checks sure are early this morning. Casual too."

She smiled, blushing, her body defying the commands of her internal voice to remain cool. Then she looked for the lobby clock. "You're in early."

"I come in to do my own exercise regimen before I start work for the day," James answered.

"Got it. Look, I better go," Cuddy said, nodding as she walked to the door.

James called after her, "If I ever end up sick I'm going to your hospital. I love your philosophies on patient care. Such devotion."

"I'm not usually an attending," she countered with the first thing that came to her mind.

"What is it you do, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"It's a teaching hospital."

"Ok…"

"I'm the Dean."

James crossed his arms, nodding as he thought, "You're the boss?"

Cuddy nodded, "Yea."

James' grin was unavoidable, "That is…wow that's some deeply thought-provoking material."

"What?"

"Have a nice day, ma'am," James said, nodding politely.

"You too," Cuddy responded with a squinting glance before she waved goodbye and walked out the door.

* * *

House was stretching out in his bed, drifting slowly back to sleep when his door flung open. James peered around the door and shouted, "Do you always go for powerful women? Seriously? The boss?"

"What?"

"Of all of the women in the world, you're chasing your boss' skirt?"

House nodded, "Not so much the skirt I'm into as the owner of the skirt."

"You know that you still have to get up at the same time today. You don't think I'm going to take pity on you for frittering away your night, do you?"

"Frittering away?"

"I'm being polite, try it," James smirked before he walked out the door.

* * *

James pushed House's efforts during his workout without sympathy. When House stepped down off of the treadmill and sat on the waiting chair, he immediately started pressing into his thigh, trying to soothe the cramping that had been building to a peak.

"I thought you wanted me to go out…'seek moments of bliss,' isn't that what you suggested?" House asked, his voice tense and pained.

"Most certainly," James affirmed.

"So why are you penalizing me for doing that?"

"I'm not. I want you to have fun, enjoy life. But that never comes at the expense of your recovery. You have to learn to balance them."

House leaned his head in one hand, the other hand digging into the remaining muscle in his thigh, "It really fucking hurts."

"I know," James answered. "This is a change from your normal routine. You're using your muscles in new ways, different ways. Doing things differently is hard, change hurts. It can be rewarding too, but at first…it hurts."

House looked up, his mind flying in a million directions.

"Go soak," James offered. "When you're done, I'll work the muscle a bit."

* * *

"You should have told me," James said, nodding out the window when House emerged from his soak.

"Told you what?" House asked, tiredly limping toward his trainer.

"I thought you and the doctor were a new thing."

"Um," House pondered, "I don't know that I'd say 'new.'"

"Your daughter is cute."

"What?"

James waited until House made it over to the window. On the grass outside of the building, Cuddy was taking Rachel for a walk, holding the child on one hip during a walk around the grounds. "Oh," House acknowledged, neither confirming nor denying a relationship to the child.

"Makes things a bit more serious," James said, studying his patient. "It isn't just about you. Isn't even just about you and your woman. There's a kid involved. You have to hang your hat on something in your recovery…that should never be one or two people. I mean, face it, what if your lady dies going to work…or dumps you for a gorgeous, younger physical therapist who's full of wisdom and incredibly romantic?"

House glanced over at the widely grinning man next to him, "Just for example?"

"Yea, just for example," James replied. "Honestly, you have to build your recovery on yourself. The truth is that something could happen to the lady, and you'd have to be there for the child. Or something could happen to the child, and you'd have to be there for the lady. Or something could happen to both of them and you'd have to find a way to get through it for you. Some people build recovery on god or on churches, things like that, but each person has to find what works for them. I have people I go to when I'm flipping out, but I have rituals too. Exercise, certain music and places I go. I'll never take a drug before going through one of my rituals. So far, that has worked for me. It gives me time to think. It's comfortable and familiar. That way, if every single person I can count on dies in the same car wreck, I still have that buffer between me and relapse. As much as I believe it's wrong to build recovery on a relationship, there's nothing wrong with being motivated by people you may care for, responsibilities you may have or things that you want. You don't want that little girl to grow up without you. Do you?"

House didn't answer, he stared calmly out the window, watching Cuddy and Rachel.

"I'll take your quiet as concern and not indecision?" James added.

"It's not indecision."

"I'm not trying to freak you out, I'm just saying that you have a very good reason to try to stay clean. You have people who need you."

"They don't need me," House answered, thoughtlessly.

James turned and faced him, "Why in the hell would you say that?"

House looked back, his face at ease. "Cuddy does fine on her own. She doesn't need me to get by."

"You think this is about getting by?"

"I'm not an ideal father."

"Neither was mine," James said, "But, I love the old coot."

House glanced over for a moment.

"He was relentless," James continued, "growing up, I hated him! He expected near perfection. When I fell apart though, he stuck by my side. He told me what a dumbass I was, but he was there. No one else was. In the end, whether you see yourself as a playing on the floor dad, or a crazy old coot who's there when they need you, who cares. There's no mold."

"I guess."

"There isn't. I know a little bit about you from what you've said. About how you practice medicine. I know you always follow protocol when dealing with patients, and you take orders really well. Just like you do here, not questioning or constantly arguing every little thing," James said sarcastically.

House tilted his head but made no other response.

"That's exactly what I thought," James continued, "If you don't have to be a doctor like everyone else, why would you have to mold your behavior to a standard for any other role in your life?"

"Look, I'm not-" House stopped himself suddenly and felt almost as if he couldn't continue.

"You're not what?" James asked. "You can say whatever you need to say even if it sounds horrible."

"I have no idea what she expects from me."

"Your daughter?"

"Cuddy."

"Did you ask her?"

"No," House scoffed.

"Why is that a crazy question?"

"It just isn't how I am. Or…how we are."

"Then brace yourself for some more painful changes. She's your boss and your girlfriend and your baby's mother. You have a hell of a lot of eggs in that one basket. You need to know how to deal with that basket."

House stared out the window, appearing overwhelmed, saying nothing.

"Here's the deal," James said, "it isn't a bad thing, it just is what it is. However, you need to learn how to talk with her about things because your lives crisscross a great deal. That can be good if you two can count on each other, or catastrophic if it all goes bad. She needs to know this too. She needs to be honest about what she expects. You need to understand where she's coming from…as a boss or mom or girlfriend. She needs to understand where you are coming from as a doctor or father or boyfriend, and definitely as an addict. Who's going to tell her if not you?"

"You?"

"No way. I don't get in the middle of other people's relationships. Nope. I'll talk to you, but I'm not gonna be your messenger boy. It's a disservice to both of you. You have to learn to do it for yourselves. Besides, my interpretation of what you want from her might be different than what you actually expect. This recovery thing is only a little, tiny bit about the drugs. The rest is about learning to live your life."

"What do you want me to tell her?" House asked, irritated.

"It doesn't matter what I want. There is no warming up phase. To me, recovery doesn't take place in a vacuum. Life isn't like that. You have to learn to live life, not during its easiest moments, but during all of the moments. We can't expect the rest of the world to stop so we can get acclimated to life without drugs because it leaves us ill-prepared. The world won't slow down because we're in pain. Best you learn to do it now, while the support is there."

* * *

House slept almost every day after PT. After his shower, he was restless even though he was exhausted. He barely slept the night before and had a vigorous training session, but he still couldn't seem to sleep. His leg ached heavily. The more that he tried to relax, the more his mind continued whirring. When he finally slept, dreams were awaiting him. The dream was pleasant enough, at first, a long motorcycle ride through the open countryside. There were no stop signs or traffic, only miles and miles of s-curves and pavement in front of him. In his dream, he felt his phone vibrating in his coat and when he pulled over to answer it, he heard Cuddy crying unintelligibly. He turned his bike around, heading back to the hospital. Searching the hospital, he was unable to find her, so he went to her home, his body and mind tense with foreboding anticipation. After searching the rest of the house, he finally checked Rachel's room. Once inside, he saw what he seemed to know he would find all along, his younger self. The cocky young man balanced Rachel uncaringly in his lap. She wailing loudly, but the man seemed unaffected by her crying.

House felt ill, felt the acid crawling up his esophagus as he tried to figure out how to get the child away from the angry man. "You know what she needs?" the young man asked.

"I'll figure it out. Give her to me," House said, trying to hide the fear in his demand.

"She needs a real male role model."

"I'll take her," House encouraged, holding his hand out as he stepped closer.

"I didn't mean you."

"Forget about the kid. I'll give her back to her mother," House negotiated.

"What every child _really_ needs, more than a male role model, is to be taught some respect, to be shown some discipline."

House lunged forward for the child, waking before he was able to get to her. He was sweating, breathing heavily. Once he realized he was awake, he didn't hesitate. Trying to work through the pain in his leg, he got up, grabbed his cane and took off down the hallway.

He opened the door to the Claudia Manly's office. For all of the jokes she had likely encountered over the years, Dr. Manly was a graceful and overtly feminine woman. She was in her mid-fifties, blond, tall and impossibly thin, dressed in conservatively professional attire. Her office was also conservatively professional, but she had pictures of animals, mountains and calming seascapes around the room that seemed awkwardly out of place.

The way that House barged into her office without pause or courtesy immediately ignited her fury. "I have a patient," she answered sternly.

"Miss Manly?" House asked.

"_Doctor_ Manly," she corrected.

"So you say," he replied. "Take me back."

"Excuse me?"

"We had a little tiff," House explained to her patient. "I want to come back," he told Dr. Manly.

"I have a patient right now. We can discuss this later," the psychiatrist answered, gesturing for the door.

"I can't sleep without an answer."

She stood, escorting him to the door. "I will talk to you later, Gregory," she whispered.

"Tell me you'll take me back," he said loudly.

"Will you make an attempt to cooperate this time?" she replied in the same quiet tone of voice.

"Probably not."

"Then why should I see you? I told you, I'm not an expert in addiction anyway."

"I have someone to do the addiction stuff. I need you for other stuff. I need you to heal the wounded soul trapped inside me," he announced melodramatically.

She pursed her lips angrily. "Your sincerity is blatant," she responded dryly.

"I am sincere," House replied, his tone mirroring the sentiment. "I need someone to bounce ideas off of. Although it's a _remote_ possibility…there is the _slightest_ chance that you might know something that could help me."

She considered him seriously, "Fine."

"Fine? We're good?"

"We're not_ good_," she said, looking him over disdainfully, "but I'll see you. Tomorrow at one."

"I knew I could get you back," he responded while walking out the door.

After House left, Dr. Manly's patient asked, "Is that one of your regular patients?"

"He's not my patient, he's a waste of my time. I have a free hour tomorrow, he can come in if he feels like it. He'll be angry and walking out that door in thirty minutes. All that I can say is, you only get out of these sessions what you invest in them. Now, I've wasted enough time on him for today, what were we talking about?"


	10. Unscheduled

_A/N-Thanks to all for checking this fic out and to all who have reviewed the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, OldSFfan, Boo's House, JM, BabalooBlue, KiwiClare, JLCH, Guest, freeasabird14, jaybe61, chebelle, Iane Casey, LapizSilkwood, BJAllen815, dmarchl21, Suzieqlondon, lenasti16, bladesmum, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, LoveMyHouse, Huddyphoric and Bakerstreet Blues._

_Next Update should be Monday/Tuesday. _

* * *

-Unscheduled-

House entered the small room Cuddy was using for an office during their stay at the facility. Rachel was napping in a stroller in the corner, and Cuddy hung up the phone while she began writing notes in a file.

"Nothing like your usual digs," House said, pointing around the small office space, "your bathroom is probably bigger than this."

"Fewer interruptions though," she commented as she continued to write, "in a way, the quiet is nice."

"Is that a not so veiled reference to me? Remember, I've inspired some of your greatest acts of administrative-ry."

Cuddy's eyes left the paper while she cast him a warm glance. "I meant overall. It's peaceful. I'd go crazy if things were always this calm, but it's a nice break for a moment."

"Good," House answered, sitting on the chair between the desk and the stroller, leaning forward and bracing his hands on top of the cane in front of him. Searching for words in a briefly uncomfortable moment, he finally said, uneasily, "Does she usually sleep right now?"

Cuddy looked up from the paperwork, asking with utter bemusement, "Rachel?"

"Who else is sleeping?"

"Sorry, I'm just…" she began, placing the pen down next to the file so she could pay attention to him, folding her hands loosely on the desk, "You just don't usually ask about her. I was a little surprised."

"I ask about her."

"Occasionally. It's not part of what we usually talk about. Umm…she does usually nap around this time. We went for a walk and she fell asleep after a few minutes, so I came in here to call Jiang, the doctor who consulted with me about your treatment, to discuss your progress. I'm the hands-on, he's the expert. I thought I would see what he thought before we make any decisions."

"What decisions?"

"House, you're doing great. Your PT seems to be going well from what James said. Your body has responded with few problems, all of your vitals look great. Jiang wishes you were part of his last study group."

"So you told him about the hours and hours of incredible sex as evidence of my strong rehabilitation?"

"Of course," she teased, "whenever I discuss your case, I lead with that piece of information, however, I'd like to think that at least some part of what makes the sex so incredible might be your partner."

One corner of House's mouth twitched while his eyes fell on hers, "No, it's that good when it's just me and the shower too."

Cuddy breathed an amused but disbelieving chuckle and retorted, "I'm setting up a spy cam."

He looked over at a horrible piece of motel room quality art on the wall and said, "My partner is the only reason it's that incredible." She was stunned, her mouth searching for words that her mind could not gather and he continued before she was able to formulate anything audible, "So what else did you and Jiang talk about?"

She shook her head, trying to reawaken her brain, "I shared your progress with him, and we agree. You should be officially released."

"Good news. So what's next?"

"I still have a few more weeks of maternity leave scheduled. I could easily take more. I think for at least the next two weeks, we should stay here. Let you work with James. We have to set up PT or something for you once we get back home."

"Can't we bring him along?"

"He's not a puppy," she answered.

"He's the best. I like the best. You like the best. Princeton-Plainsboro needs someone like him. He's here, helping people who are practically dead try to feel a little better when he could be out showing people how to get a new life. You could start a program rehabbing wounded soldiers and chronic pain patients."

She leaned forward, her elbow on the desk, her chin in hand while she thought. "That's not my decision alone. The board-"

"Screw the board. They'll do whatever you want anyway, they're not stupid enough to ignore you. You made that place. And it's a good idea."

"You just want to have two Jameses."

"Wilson is Wilson. Wilson has always been Wilson. I want a Wilson and a James."

"Dealing with chronic pain patients is an intriguing idea. I can already think of a few potential donors for a project like that. Of course I do actually have to get the board to agree, and who knows if James wants to leave here."

"He does. I'll handle James."

"Even still, it could take months, even a year, to start up a department like that. The hospital is pretty full, so I'm thinking some sort of construction might be necessary. It'll take some time _if _it works out."

"It'll work out," House nodded. "Can we get him something at the hospital temporarily? Neuro rehab, orthopedics. They always need people."

"They won't draw the same salary as what you're talking about."

"Still probably more than here."

"I'll look into it. Don't offer anything to him yet. Don't try to convince him until I'm sure I can line something up."

"He's the one I need," House answered, "he's like a member of my team."

"I'll look into it," she repeated, "that's all I can promise you right now."

He looked back over to the stroller, "She doesn't have trouble sleeping through this much noise?"

Cuddy nodded, peering across the desk to see her napping child before continuing her paperwork. "Yea. My mother tells me I was like that."

"Passed on those traits during the adoption process?"

"Must be it. Or, of the possibilities of good sleeper or bad sleeper, we just happened to fall on the same side. Quite a coincidence isn't it?" she smirked, still writing.

"James thought she was mine."

"Who?" Cuddy asked inattentively.

"Rachel."

Cuddy put her pen back down, "No, that's impossible."

"I know it's impossible, he just thought that."

"No, I mean-"

"It isn't exactly unfathomable, Cuddy. You've been stooping to my level an awful lot recently," he scoffed.

He looked up to find Cuddy glaring angrily, speaking with a low voice only to avoid waking the child, "I've never acted like that. I don't think that."

"Sure you do. You're more than willing to have sex with me, but you don't want other people to think that you do. I hear that many children have actually resulted from behavior similar to ours, but that might be some crazy rumor."

Cuddy stood, walked around the desk and came to the front near his chair, "You are the one who thinks that I'm stooping. Not me."

"Current evidence indicates that you're lying."

"_Attempt_ to have an open mind for what I'm about to tell you. It is not impossible because of the reasons you are suggesting. I have never denied having a relationship with you. I told James we were in a relationship days ago. I brought it up even. It's impossible that James thinks that you are Rachel's father because I personally told him that I adopted her on my own before we started seeing each other."

The sense of surprise covered House's face, "When did you talk to him about that?"

"Right after we got here. He saw me outside with Rachel. I had her in a jogging stroller and he asked how long it took me to get back to my regular workout routine after I had her. I told him that I wasn't seeing anyone earlier this year, and I decided to adopt on my own. I didn't get into specifics about that, but he knows."

"Why would he lie to me?"

"I don't know. What did he say when you told him the truth?" Cuddy asked, waiting for some sort of response that was not forthcoming. "House?"

"I didn't say anything because he didn't really ask. He just assumed and gave advice based on that."

"You didn't correct him?"

"Apparently he already knew."

"But you didn't know that he already knew."

"I'm not trying to play family," House swiftly retorted.

"I didn't say that. I'm just…surprised."

"So was I. He started talking so I just listened. I guess…"

"You guess what?" she asked, calming a bit.

"I guess if I'm going to see you, I have to deal with her."

"I'll try to make sure you have to _deal_ with her as little as possible," she countered angrily.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you _mean_? I haven't asked you to do anything with her, have I? Apart from suggesting breakfast in the morning."

"What do you expect from me?" he asked softly.

"In what way?"

"James said that I should figure out what you expect from me."

"I don't know," she finally answered after a pause. "I honestly don't know. This all happened sort of suddenly. I didn't think you and I were a possibility anymore and yet-"

"Here we are."

"We have time to figure it out. For now, I'll just ask for your honesty. I want us to try. And no other women. No hookers."

"Why would I need a hooker?"

"You want my expectations. I don't want you screwing around with anyone else."

"I sort of felt that was implied. And mutual."

"It is mutual. I have no way of knowing what you think is implied and what you don't. I might think that the two of us going to my mother's house for holidays is implied…you might not."

House winced, "OK. I expect _actual_ honesty from you, not…'you should already know' honesty. And you can't have hookers either." Rachel started to stir and House stood, "I better go. I have stuff to do."

"OK," Cuddy nodded, obviously somewhat concerned.

"What?"

"Nothing," she started to shake her head, but paused, "Umm…are you leaving because she's waking up?"

"No," he answered firmly, "Manly's fitting me in."

"Want to come over tonight? You could stay for the night. Tell the nurses you'll be back in the morning for PT."

"Sure. I'll come over after she goes to bed."

"Not ready to add a kid into the mix yet?" she asked with attempted insouciance.

House's eyes narrowed while he searched her face.

"Forget it. Alright," Cuddy nodded, "eight-thirty. I'll meet you down by the main door of the house."

He nodded his goodbye as Rachel woke fully, and Cuddy watched worriedly while he walked out the door.

* * *

When Manly returned from her lunch, her assistant smiled at her, "Your two o'clock is here."

"I don't have a two o'clock," Manly began, then nodded, "tall man with a cane?"

"That's him."

"Great," Manly answered, walking into her office where House was sitting on the sofa with his hands folded against his abdomen. She huffed before she asked, "Why are you here? I told you tomorrow at one. Not today at two."

"I happened to notice your schedule. You must have forgotten that you had an opening today."

"I didn't forget," Manly said, calmly tapping the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other hand while she thought. "Gregory, I think you feel that you can just walk in here and get a quick answer. You want to force your way into my office and into my schedule. And you hope that by three today, you have all of the information you need to be fine. I've never met a patient who attends one session and is cured. The mind is a complicated thing. I will not be bullied into telling you whatever it is that you want to hear. Come back tomorrow. Or don't. I don't care."

"Don't psychiatrists have a duty to help those who want to be helped?"

"If someone walks up to you in the street and they're sick, will you personally help them just because they ask?"

"Depends on their symptoms."

"I suppose I'm the same way. So far, your symptoms indicate that this is a joke to you. I'm interested in helping people that, on some level, want to be helped."

"I do," he replied softly, "I do want to be helped."

"That feels like the first real thing you've said. So ten words out of what, three or four thousand between today and our extremely abbreviated session the other day? You want me to drop everything and be available to you, and in exchange, you're offering me the real you less than one percent of the time."

"I'm not used to this."

"Honesty? Adult behavior? Civility?"

"If you're just going to berate me the entire time, you should know that I have a legion of people who are willing to berate me for free."

"Why are you here?" Manly asked sternly. "Most of my patients are either dying or they're here because someone they're connected to is dying. From the few seconds I looked at your file…you are not dying. Additionally, to be here under these circumstances, you must have friends in high places. Someone must care about you."

"It seems that may be the case."

Manly sighed, looking at her computer screen. She held up a finger, asking him to wait while she dialed her phone. "It's me," she said into her phone, "I'll be a half hour late…yes…bye."

House queried, "So I'm staying?"

"I'll give you thirty minutes. I have plans tonight. You can keep your appointment tomorrow if you're serious enough to return. Why don't you give me a brief personal overview. Some basic history, any life events that you may want to share."

"History? Not everything is rooted in childhood."

"You're…going to assume that's what I meant? You've been an adult longer than you've been a child, you aren't that young. Your personal history is more than your childhood."

"I don't need to dig into everything. I have one problem that I need fixed. Can we concentrate on that?"

She sat back, staring down at a blank tablet in front of her and swiping away imaginary dust, "Have you seen those…commercials that demonstrate specialized exercise equipment? Things that promise to give you a washboard stomach if you spend just ten minutes a day wearing an electrical current belt or doing modified sit-ups on a special chair?"

"Buy a lot of things from infomercials?"

"Again…I can see how seriously you're taking this."

"OK…get back to your longwindedly poignant metaphor."

Manly scowled over the desk, "Why am I doing this?"

"Because I'm the most fascinating psyche you've had on your sofa? Or because I'm the only person you've seen for years who isn't asking questions about the stages of grief?"

"You're entirely without grief?"

House stared, pondering.

Manly continued, her throat tight with frustration, "Back to my…'longwindedly poignant metaphor.' You can work your abs, fight for that washboard stomach every moment of every day for the rest of your life, but if you don't trim up and your stomach is covered in fat, you won't see any improvements. Targeting doesn't work with your mind either. Usually problems are bigger than the one problem you want to fix."

He took a preparatory breath and said, quickly, "I'm almost fifty, an only child, two parent household, grew up all over because my dad was a Marine, I'm a doctor specializing in diagnostics, probably the best. Had an infarction in my leg, the surgery to correct left me without a sizable chunk of muscle and in chronic pain. This led to a pretty hefty Vicodin habit. The Vicodin habit became nasty and I began to have difficulty functioning and even started to hallucinate. The hallucinations are most of why I'm sitting here. All of those issues led me to this facility to kick Vicodin."

"OK," Manly answered, "Nice start. Are you close with your parents?"

"No. Although I spend less time avoiding my father since he died. Does that make us closer than we were?"

"Are you married? In a relationship?" she continued, ignoring the unnecessary portion of his comments.

"Never married. My last relationship was few years ago…and I guess I have a girlfriend now."

"You guess?"

"It's a recent development."

"Children?"

"No. She has a kid."

"Have a lot of friends, a good support system?"

"I wouldn't say a lot, but I have friends. One or two."

"OK," Manly answered, "I'm sure you know it's not unheard of to hallucinate after years of opiate abuse."

"I know."

"So why were the hallucinations particularly troubling?"

"I shouldn't be worried about hallucinating?"

"Well, you're a doctor. You must have anticipated the possibility. So either, the hallucination made you realize how bad your habit had become, or the hallucinations themselves were disturbing. Which is it?"

"Can't it be both?"

"If you are going to answer every one of my questions with questions you will get nowhere," Manly said with annoyed sincerity.

"Is that a question?"

"Want my advice? Go call your sort-of-girlfriend and tell her you need six months off to concentrate on your recovery, then-"

"No," he answered calmly but sternly, "next topic."

Manly's face was subtly smug, just enough for House to notice, but not too overt. He began to wonder how many of the woman's reactions or statements were controlled or manipulative prompts. "What's that look for?" he asked, irritated by the subtle expression on her face.

"You finally really answered a question. I guess I found something that is more important to you than sarcasm and misdirection. What else is important to you? What else do you refuse to let go of? You gave up drugs, that was a pretty significant sacrifice."

"My job. My piano. My leg."

"Your leg?"

"Yea. There was talk of amputation."

"How recently?"

"Not recently."

"So why was it important enough to mention?"

"Because I fought to keep it, and that is part of the reason why I am in as much pain as I am," he explained.

"Part of the reason?"

"Yea. Other people decided on a course of treatment that was less risky than the one I had requested. If they would have followed my instructions, there would be less pain. I could also be more dead."

"Do you blame these…_people_?"

"I have…occasionally. In the past."

"But you don't now?"

"No. If I would have agreed to the amputation, there would also be less pain and less risk. Also less leg. But I didn't. The people who made the decision did not want me to die, I did not want to live without a leg. I would have been much angrier if they had chosen to amputate it."

"Still, it's disturbing to have people make decisions for you. To take that power away."

"Any of the outcomes were bad. My outcome was changed when I got the infarction. The infarction itself was a blameless occurrence."

"Do you hate your leg?"

House flinched, disgusted, "Do I hate my _leg_?"

"Yes."

"My leg isn't actually another person."

"We can hate things. We can also have relationships with them. Some things are so significant in our lives that they become entities. You've been rubbing your thigh since I sat down. It clearly has a significant impact on you."

"So I have a relationship with my leg…and I hate it?" House asked incredulously.

"You do have a relationship with your leg. You have to tell me if you hate it. You have relationships with your leg, with pain, with Vicodin. How many people have you gone to bed with, woken up with, eaten every meal with, every day for the last… ten years? However long it's been. Your relationships with your leg, with Vicodin until recently, are more constant than the one I have with my own spouse. And although you think you are not grieving, you probably are. You've lost Vicodin. Perhaps one of your best friends. Not too many people try to comfort us every time we're in pain. That friend, that constant companion, is gone. Who knows, maybe part of you is still mourning your leg."

"I'm not mourning my leg, it's here. I'm stuck with it, every day."

"You aren't even allowing yourself to process the suggestion before you're dismissing it."

"Because it's a stupid suggestion. Why would I mourn it? I hate this fucking useless piece of…"

Manly smiled, not smugly, but somewhat sadly as he realized what he had just said.

"Fine," he added, "I hate it. Or I hate the fact that…it is not what it was. That it is a source of constant pain. But I'm not in mourning over Vicodin. I'm not that crazy. This isn't even what I want to talk about. I don't want to whine about my leg or Vicodin. That's the past, I've accepted those things. None of this is helping me with what I need help with."

House looked belligerent, angry at the turn in discussion, and he watched as Manly's face tightened. "Gregory," she said, calmly but stiffly, "as I've said, it is impossible to correct one thing in the mind, particularly when that one thing is so entwined with everything else, but since we're here, why don't you tell me what it is you want from me?"

"My hallucination, while I had it, tormented me. It wants me to avoid being clean, having any outside contact, having a girlfriend. It hates me. I detoxed. It went away, and now it's in my dreams."

"Very persistent. Is it telling you to hurt yourself or others?"

"No. It just hates me. Tries to make me see the worst, think the worst."

"Fosters hopelessness," she recapped.

"Yes."

"How does it manifest itself?"

"It looks like…me. Years ago. It isn't me. He's angrier. Take the worst of my mind, take the fears, anger, regrets, and throw them all into him. If you like me, you'd _love _him."

"And he wants you to avoid things that may bring you some degree of joy or understanding."

"Yup."

"So what you want, is to get rid of this…thing?"

"Yes. I want to try to be less unhappy. I really want to stay clean. I want a relationship with the woman I'm seeing. I want to figure out how to be around her kid. I also hope, probably irrationally, to manage my pain," he answered openly.

"You don't just hate your leg…you hate yourself."

"It's going to be really interesting listening to you try to explain why I should not hate myself when you clearly don't like me. Sort of a weird double standard."

"It doesn't matter what I think of you. If we're going to truly compare, you would have to consider whether or not I am self-loathing, not my feelings about other people."

"So what do we do?"

"Your situation isn't simple. You don't just want to get rid of one fear or one bad habit. You want to learn to cope with self-loathing, something deeply engrained in a person. The short of it is, you need to figure out why you hate yourself. What you hate about yourself. And then, once we figure out why and what, we start to figure out how to combat that feeling. You have to accept that there will always be self-doubt, questioning, that nagging voice of worry…but self-loathing is not healthy."

"Well, I'll tell him during the next dream that he shouldn't be so harsh."

Manly stood up, gathering her things, "I'll talk to you tomorrow. You have a lot to think about. Mostly, you need to decide if it's worth it to look at yourself. If you really want me to try to help you or not. This problem is one that will require you to really look at who you are and how you've arrived here. If you don't want to do that, I cannot help you. I can't pinpoint the spot in your brain and fix that for you. Self-loathing is dangerous and destructive. It can easily get between you and every single thing you've wanted or hoped for. If you want to be clean or have any sort of decent life, you need to find a way to combat your self-loathing. It's up to you. If you are still interested, show up here tomorrow at one. We'll continue."

She walked to the door, gesturing for him to leave. House took his cane, making his way slowly over to her and he asked, "If you were dating someone with a kid, what would you do?"

"Well," Manly sighed, "I don't have children. But, if I planned to be around for a while, I'd show up. Don't try to impress him or her, just be there. Take an interest in what they're interested in. You don't have to like the same things, just be interested enough to ask about them."

"Strained peas, stuffed animals and clean diapers? That's what she's interested in."

"A baby?"

"No, Cuddy's daughter is actually a really, really old woman."

"You are absolutely hilarious, Gregory," Manly mumbled. "I'll ignore your rudeness. The advantage of a kid that small is that you can figure each other out at the same time. All of the people in the world that you know probably already have a conception of you. This kid…has none. She is one of very few people who will know you before her mind really judges you. She doesn't know what other people think about you or your past. You have a clean slate."

House was processing the information when Manly said, "Now get out. I'm not leaving you alone in my office."

"See you tomorrow," he answered, hurrying down the hall as fast as he could.

* * *

Since House left her office earlier that day, Cuddy pondered their last interaction. She wondered if House was really willing to accept her role as a mother, and the place that Rachel would have in their lives. No matter what, Rachel and House would have to cross paths at times. Cuddy was exhausted, the long naps that House was able to take after PT helped to keep him feeling rested after their nights together, but Cuddy had no such opportunity. Her days were filled with his case and her daughter. Part of her expected him to end the relationship the next time they met, claiming his own history or his personality made him unsuitable for a relationship. She was on a blanket on the floor next to Rachel while she pondered these thoughts when a cane-knock sounded on her door.

She opened it, finding who she expected to find, but wondering why he was there. "Rachel isn't asleep yet, we haven't even had dinner," Cuddy commented as she yawned.

He seemed amused by the sight of her yawning and asked, before entering, "I need you to tell me the truth."

"Sure," she folded her arms and braced herself while they stood in the doorway.

"One day you are inviting me to come over after Rachel is in bed. The next day, when I suggest coming over after she's asleep, you seem upset. So what is it? Did you want me to come over after Rachel was asleep for my benefit or for hers?"

"Oh, umm. Yours. It's not your fault that I have a child. I don't want you to feel like you have to deal with her. Not so early in our relationship."

"You can't keep trying to maintain a double life," he answered softly.

"Agreed."

"You're beautiful."

"Thanks?" she answered, confused by the timing of his statement.

"You're beautiful, but you also look exhausted."

"I'm a little tired."

"You're exhausted. Can I come in? I brought dinner."

"Did the other woman make it?" Cuddy teased.

"Oh yea."

"I'll have to run down to the kitchen here and grab Rachel's food."

"I've got it."

"Baby food?"

"Better."

Cuddy gestured for him to enter the suite of rooms. There was a tiny living room, 2 adjacent bedrooms and a bathroom. "This is nice," he commented as he looked around.

"In-law quarters. My friend's mother lived here for a few years."

"Before they shipped her next door to die?"

"Sort of," Cuddy smiled.

House opened the large bag that he had and pulled out three small containers. "I asked for pureed peas, but Delores said they taste like ass. I have mashed potatoes, pureed pears and pureed carrots."

Cuddy looked at him, surprised.

"Don't be too impressed, Delores said this was what her kids liked."

"Thank you," Cuddy said genuinely.

"Go sit with the kid, and I'll cook. And by cook, I mean I'll open these containers of food that Delores packed for me."

Cuddy slid down onto the blanket Rachel was playing on and stretched out. "Did you get in to see Claudia?"

"Who?"

"Dr. Manly?"

"Oh yea. She's interesting. More as a devil's advocate kind of person. She really dislikes me. She grinds her teeth when she sees me. Maybe she'll be objective. I don't know. I'm trying it because I don't know what else to do right now. Which do you think Rachel wants first, the potatoes, pears or carrots?" House asked while he was opening containers. "Cuddy?"

When he turned around, Cuddy was napping on the floor next to where Rachel was playing. The child held a brightly colored toy comprised of plastic rings and textured fabric. House stood next to Rachel, "We'll save pears for dessert. So, what do you want? Potatoes?"

Rachel kept playing with her toy.

"Carrots?" he asked.

The little girl looked up and grinned.

"OK, carrots it is," he said as he walked over to the small table, looking back nervously at the sleeping mother and playing child. "Let's see how much I can screw this up."


	11. Routines

_A/N-Thank you to all of you who reviewed since the last posting: IHeartHouseCuddy, JM, KiwiClare, Suzieqlondon, OldSFfan, Guest, IWuvHouse, chebelle, LapizSilkwood, BabalooBlue, LoveMyHouse, lenasti16, JLCH, jaybe61, Boo's House, ikissedtheLaurie, Abby, Alex, freeasabird14, HuddyGirl, bladesmum, dmarchl, BJAllen815, and Huddyphoric. _

_I extended this fic by a few chapters, so there are probably 4-5 more remaining. The next chapter of this story should be up Thursday/Friday. For anyone who is interested, I have a lighter two shot that I'll be putting up in between chaps of this fic. I needed something less serious to write about for a minute. Have a great week!  
_

* * *

-Routines-

Cuddy was on her side, sleeping on the blanket on the floor, breathing so deeply that House could hear her from several feet away. He looked around for a good place to feed the child, finally deciding on the corner of the sofa. He put their meals on the coffee table and stood over her, looking down from a fully standing position to the tiny girl sitting on the ground. He bent at the waist to speak to her and she eyed him suspiciously.

"It's weird isn't it?" he asked. "I mean, we're probably the two people who spend the most time with her, and yet we never really hang out."

Rachel looked up so fully that she began to tip backwards onto the blanket, so House put his hands under the child's arms and scooped her up as he stood. She stared at him and, for a moment, he thought she might cry. Her tiny eyebrows were furrowed and her lips so serious they were nearly frowning.

"I'd be suspicious too. Of people in general. I'm new at this, I mean, I'm _around_ kids, and if there was something wrong with you, I'd definitely know what to do. Really, at work, it's the parents who are the irritating morons, the kids are usually just victims of their parents' insanity and cluelessness. I'm obviously more capable than them, so this should be OK."

Rachel continued to stare and then, almost as if she had processed her situation, she ended the disapproving glare and her face relaxed. House put her in the corner of the sofa and opened the carrots, dipping a white plastic spoon into the mush and holding it out for her. She looked at the food with the same suspicion that she initially regarded him with and then opened her mouth, waiting for the food to be delivered. He had a momentary look of victory when the first bite was in the child's mouth and she swallowed the food.

"OK," House nodded, "this isn't hard."

The child took a second bite, and then, defiantly countering his suggestion that childcare was easy, she spit the carrots out of her mouth in a soupy mess of vegetable and saliva that coated her chin and her top.

"That's seriously gross, Rachel," he nodded. "You liked the last bite but you don't like this bite?"

Her fat fingers reached toward the spoon again and he asked, "You want me to give you more after you did that?"

She grinned up, her feet kicking urgently, but when the food was not offered, she began to whine.

"Don't wake up your mother, sleep deprivation can do crazy things to your brain. If my sleep deprived and Vicodin scrambled brain hallucinates mean jerks, she probably hallucinates some sort of crazy, controlling, administrative psycho-woman, and believe me when I say you and I do not want to deal with that."

He held out the food and the girl hungrily swallowed it down. After that, he offered her mashed potatoes, which she finished with more gusto than he did his own. His food was sitting out on the coffee table so he could grab occasional bites, his meal rapidly cooling while she ate casually.

"It's hard to believe all of this fits in your stomach," he commented, looking at the size of her torso.

She started to look around and gripe, and House said, "OK, take it easy. You want a drink?"

House handed her a bottle that Cuddy had already made and stored in the small refrigerator in the corner of the room, and he sat back down next to the child, feeling like he was making child care look easy. Rachel tipped back, so she was leaning into the corner of the sofa, holding the bottle in her unpracticed hands. "Why did I even doubt that I could handle this," House said to her confidently, until her fingers lost their grip on the bottle and it fell back and hit her face.

There were a few seconds where he thought that maybe she was fine, and then he watched her lip begin to quiver and her chest expand with a deep breath and he knew what was coming. He did not want Cuddy to wake up to an injured child, so he lifted Rachel and went to her room as quickly as he could. He shut the door, and started to walk while he held her. He looked at her and saw the small red mark from where the bottle smacked her forehead. She sniffled a few times and buried her face against him while she complained but, somehow, he prevented an all-out wail.

She scowled at him, obviously holding him responsible for her injury. "Oh, come on," he countered, "it wasn't _that_ heavy and you're the one who dropped it."

She sniffled again and leaned her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him.

"Eh never mind. It was my fault," he added.

He evaluated the child, realizing that the lower part of her face was covered in bright orange, partially-dried carrot and potato paste. He carried her to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and balancing her on his knee while he cleaned her up. After scraping the thick-caked mess from her chin and cheeks, she grinned widely and giggled while she waved her hands through the air.

"Doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" House asked, while she started to laugh openly at him. "It's so weird, people like you have really low expectations. You communicate them pretty well for someone who's largely non-verbal. You're essentially training me. Rewarding me for good behavior, punishing me for letting the bottle hit you in the head…even though, technically, you were the one who dropped it."

Rachel stuck her tongue out and loudly blew a raspberry, and House felt himself chuckle for a second in response. "Everyone has a clean slate with you, don't they? Anyone who understands people, I don't mean the complicated screwed up messes that people become or who they want you to think they are, I mean anyone who really understands people, gets that you aren't that different from them. People spend all these years growing and essentially very little really changes. What do we really want?" he asked while he pulled off the shirt that was now both orange from carrots and wet from the washcloth. He wrapped her up in a thick towel and walked back to her bedroom. "People want to be clean, to be fed, held once in a while, not to sit around in piles of our own crap and, as the bottle incident so clearly demonstrated, we want to avoid being hurt…to avoid pain. All of the complicated thoughts of certain psychiatrists and in the end…humans are remarkably simple."

He found a diaper and clean clothes, dressing her more easily than he thought he would. "I haven't diapered a kid since I was kid. I managed to get the whole way through med school, through residency and doctoring, through my ex-girlfriend's extended family without diapering a single baby…I mean I get the mechanics, but sometimes you wonder if more is involved than what you suspect."

He picked up the fully dressed child and his cane, and started back toward the living room, feeling a shiver prickle on her arms, "You're not actually cold, are you?" he asked.

She shivered again, and he yanked a blanket from her crib and draped it over her. She nuzzled close to his chest and sighed contentedly. House paced for a few moments, discussing the merits of pacing and the fact that it seemed Rachel appreciated it as much as he did because she started to fall asleep. After several laps, he heard Cuddy, "You're talking to her like you talk to Chase."

"There's no point in dumbing the world down. _He_ has to grow up some time," House countered, peering around the sofa to the blanket on the floor where Cuddy was stretching and smiling up at him.

Yawning, she said "You know that you look so hot holding a baby?"

"That's such a cliché. Women don't really think that, do they?"

She said as she pushed herself into a sitting position, "I've never really thought much about guys holding babies until I had one of my own…but sitting here, watching you with her…yea, it's extremely hot. That and…I really needed this nap, so that makes it even hotter."

Cuddy stood, walking over to take the child almost immediately.

"Eat your dinner," House responded, "I've got this."

"She's falling asleep."

"I'm not genius but…oh, wait, I am. I can handle this. I saw the crib, I think I can figure out what to do."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked, her hand patting Rachel's back.

"Yes, eat your food."

"You have to tuck her blanket in so it doesn't cover her face."

"I've seen the fluorescent-colored posters in the clinic."

"You're right," she nodded, opening a container of food while she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Do you pull the curtain or leave it open?" House asked as he approached Rachel's bedroom door.

"What curtain?"

"After I get her blankets from the crib, I put her in the bathtub to sleep, right? So curtain open or closed?" House asked with a snicker before he disappeared into Rachel's room.

Cuddy tried desperately to stay glued to the sofa, allowing House to put Rachel in her crib. It was clear exactly what he was trying to do, that he was trying to help, and at the same time she was trying desperately to trust him. Beneath all of it was a very real and pervasive fear: would her role as a mother ultimately be an insurmountable barrier between them? There were plenty of potential issues between them from their professional positions to his status as a man recently clean, but a child was a whole different issue.

She found herself rising from the sofa finally, not to check on him as much as see with her own eyes evidence that maybe the insurmountable obstacle was not actually insurmountable. She peeked through the small opening in the door and saw a wide-eyed Rachel in her crib babbling happily up at House.

He was leaning against a table next to the portable crib and said to Rachel, "She's watching us, isn't she? She's worried that I actually left you in the tub."

Rachel squealed out loudly and Cuddy said, "I wasn't worried, I was just curious."

"Well, she seemed to be asleep, and then I put her down_ on her back_," House turned and made eye contact over his shoulder, "that was on the fluorescent baby safety posters too," he turned back to Rachel, "but the second she was down her eyes popped open and she started talking."

"What's she talking about?" Cuddy asked.

"You. She's giving me the rundown, telling me all of your secrets."

"She knows stuff that you don't?"

"Oh yea. And she's in a talking mood."

Cuddy joined them, looking down into the crib at the child whose face lit up the moment Cuddy came into sight. "She has a routine. That might help settle her down."

"You're kidding," House retorted, "you even plan and ritualize the steps for the kid to go to sleep? My god, Cuddy."

"It works."

"If she doesn't fall asleep within the allotted time, do you give her clinic hours?"

"Well, yea. She already owes me thirty."

House directed his gaze to Cuddy, saying confidently, "She could use someone to show her how to do things like sleep without a set of approved steps."

"So this…isn't the only time you're putting her to sleep?" Cuddy asked.

There was a momentarily piercing stare that accompanied thought, and he said, cautiously, "I guess that's up to you."

"It's also very much up to you. You surprised me. Thank you for watching her while I slept."

"Too bad I screwed it up," he replied while Rachel continued to vocalize.

"Looks like you did pretty well for a first timer."

"Did you not notice that the child is awake?"

"She likes her routine."

"Fine, just for tonight, what's the routine?"

Cuddy reached into the crib, ready to take over, to fix the situation and demonstrate the correct way to do it. Just as she pulled the baby close to her, she saw House's face. "Here," she said, stepping close, extending the baby held within her arms toward him.

"You can do it," he answered, turning to walk away.

"Do you want to stay? You can see what I do in case you ever feel like trying again."

House pondered, finally nodding.

"Don't make fun of me, and you can stay," she added.

"I've been mocking your insane obsession with structure forever. Why stop now?"

"Not that," Cuddy answered.

House nodded while he sat on the edge of a twin bed next to the portable crib. Cuddy picked up a thick cardboard book with textured places on each page and read it while the baby finished a bottle. After reading, Cuddy stood next to where House sat. She held the baby in her arms and began to sway lazily back and forth. Then she turned away slightly, so that she did not have to watch him watching her, and she began to hum as she moved. It was a song that House was completely unfamiliar with, and Cuddy's voice was shy and uncertain but the child began to relax.

He watched while Cuddy, the powerful dean, ran her index finger along the child's fat cheek to chin, then curving back up to the baby's forehead and down the bridge of her nose. Cuddy continued to hum the haunting song while the notes were recorded in House's mind. Rachel's eyes began to flutter shut. Cuddy turned back to House and saw him watching her without judgment. After several cycles through the same calming song, she placed Rachel carefully in the crib, tucking the blanket tightly around the edges of the mattress and waiting until the little girl seemed completely asleep.

"Which part did you think I'd mock you for?" he whispered, baffled.

"I don't know. The song, the book…"

"I liked the song. What was it?"

"I don't really know, my grandmother used to hum it all of the time."

When they went out to the living room, carefully closing Rachel's door behind them, Cuddy was looking at him with a look of such enamored appreciation that he felt like he should search the room for the real intended recipient.

"Do you pay all of your babysitters like that?" he asked confidently.

"Like what?" she countered knowingly.

"Well, you look like you're about to pay up with some of the hottest sex ever experienced."

"I don't pay them _all _like that. Some of them just get regular weeknight sex."

"For most of the mortals, that's still the hottest sex they've ever experienced," he complimented shamelessly.

He watched as she grinned, and he thought about how much he loved watching a speechless Cuddy try to react to such a blatant compliment.

* * *

In the very early hours of the morning, Cuddy woke to the sight of House pacing as he leaned against the wall. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He briskly shook his head while he continued to try to pace, but he collapsed onto the edge of the bed, both of his hands gripping into his thigh. She scooted forward to his side, "What can I do?"

He looked up at her, and she could see the desire in his eyes, the desire for Vicodin, for the bottle itself, the consumption of the pill, the feeling that followed, but, above all else, the desire to end the pain. The look was so apparent it was as if he had screamed the actual words in every single language that he knew. She knew what she felt and it was fear, sadness and concern that swelled like an angry growth her chest.

"Can I rub it for you, run a bath?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said angrily.

He did not know what to do, the pain was so intense he could taste it in his mouth. Sweat bubbled along his forehead before running down his face like tears. "It hurts," he finally said.

This pain, this ache was not about surviving a craving for a drug, it was about withstanding pain. "If we can find a way to get through the worst of it…"

"We?" he spat.

"If _we_ can find a way to get through the worst of it…it will get better."

He couldn't even concentrate enough to explain why her words frustrated him, but in the back of his mind there was a truth to it. While there was always pain, it was seldom this intense. Any inkling of comfort was quickly whisked away at the realization that he still had to survive the present moment.

"Let's find James," Cuddy suggested.

"It's the middle of the night."

"He comes in at four. By the time we get there, he'll be coming in."

"And Rachel?"

Cuddy disappeared down the hall, finding her friend and bringing the still sleeping helper to the sofa. The babysitter stared at House, clearly shocked by the sight of someone in such agony.

Cuddy helped him to the stairs because the home had no elevator, the two of them nearly stumbling down the steps several times before they successfully made it. Once outside, Cuddy wanted to run for a wheelchair, but James, who was just walking into the medical facility, heard her call his name.

Once Cuddy and James had him inside the building, they wheeled him up to the PT room. James quickly and roughly kneaded House's thigh, alleviating a small portion of the worst of the spasms. Cuddy and James helped to lower House into the hot tub. "I'm fine," House said after sighing with both relief and pain, signaling to the others that he wanted to be left alone.

When James and Cuddy were back in the PT room, James was gathering towels from a closet when he saw Cuddy try to quickly brush tears away from her face. "You OK?" James asked.

Cuddy nodded, stoically, trying to hide the fact that she had feelings about what was going on.

"Tell me what happened," James said.

"His leg acted up and…neither of us were quite sure what to do. I think his pain just clouded his head so he couldn't even figure out what would help. And me…I just didn't know what in the hell to do."

"I'll help him find a routine that he'll be able to follow without thinking about it. I can show you stuff with counter pressure, massage, a few acupressure techniques too, that may help a bit."

"He does _not _want me touching him when he feels like that."

"When you aren't used to it, it takes some getting used to."

"I was just trying to help. I just wanted to help and I need to figure out how to convince him to let me."

James stood still for a moment, "Why'd you try to wipe away those little tears while my back was turned?"

Cuddy looked startled, but still tried to hide it, "I think you've misinterpreted-"

"Oh please," James countered, "don't lie to me. You didn't want me to see you in pain. If I would have, you didn't know what I'd do. Maybe I'd offer advice or give you a hug…if I did that you'd have to acknowledge that you were in pain. You'd have to let someone else see that. You seem uncomfortable with that."

"I don't know you."

"You didn't want him to see that either. You hid it from him and you _know_ him," James responded certainly.

"Because…because I didn't want him to feel bad."

"See this is a cycle. He doesn't want to look weak, doesn't want it to look like you need to take care of him, so he tries to handle it. Then you hide how much it matters, he doesn't let you help him, you eventually learn not to offer to help him…this is dysfunction."

"You're getting all of this from some tears that you think you saw?"

"We talk during his sessions. Little bits and pieces, enough to paint a pretty clear picture. Enough to know that you both hold your cards close. Enough to know that neither of you wants anyone to see their vulnerabilities. I don't know you well…but I know how he looks when we talk about you. This thing between you is massive to him and you can hurt him like no one else."

"I've already hurt him."

"Sounds like that's probably a two way street. The past should be addressed…and then once you move on from those conflicts, once you reach forgiveness, you have to close the book on the anger or resentment from those times and move forward."

"It isn't the past, it's right now. I talked him into the detox and now he's paying the price. Every time he's in pain, he'll realize that it's because of me."

James' mouth was slightly open while he shook his head, "That sense of guilt is without foundation. You can't take that on you."

"I was his doctor when his infarction happened. I talked him into detox. I'm involved in every aspect of why he's in pain."

"See, a few small words added or removed from a sentence make a huge difference. According to him, he knew he had no choice but to detox. You talked him into trying _rapid_ detox instead of traditional. Guilt is toxic too. Talk to him about this."

"That isn't who we are," she said sadly.

"No, it isn't who you _were_."

"So what do I do? When he hurts like this, once we're back home? We can't call you at three in the morning every time it acts up."

"I'll show you both some things that can help. He needs to feel worthy of your support. You need to stop feeling so nervous and guilty because that doesn't help either of you. Do you want to sit in this morning? We'll go over a routine for pain management."

"I don't know if he wants me there."

"He feels unworthy of your help. Like having to deal with his disability is an unnecessary burden on you that you shouldn't be forced to deal with."

"It isn't a burden, it's just part of who he is." Cuddy stood in front of James, her mind worming deep into thought.

"I can the cogs turning in your head," James commented.

"Tonight, he took care of my daughter for me while I took a nap."

"And?"

"And what? I didn't expect him to. I don't want him to decide that a child is too much. I'm trying to make sure he doesn't feel like he's stuck with kid duty."

"You know what's interesting, if you try to keep the responsibilities of a child from him, one possible outcome is that he will appreciate it and see it as your willingness to shoulder those duties since the choice to have a child was solely your own."

"Exactly," Cuddy nodded once emphatically.

"Of course, you haven't told him that directly, so it's also possible that he will assume it's because you don't trust him."

"It isn't that."

"He might see it as that. Or that you see him as a horrible person that should be kept away from children. That you see him as a drug addict or you fear for your child's safety."

"That isn't true."

"I hear you telling _me_ that. Which gets you points with me and nothing else. You've known him longer than I have, but I think if given two options, he's going to assume it's the one where you think he's an asshole."

"But it isn't," she protested.

"Dr. Cuddy, it doesn't matter what you tell me or what I think. I believe you, but that's meaningless."

"I want him in her life. But then…I don't want her to get hurt either."

"Oh," James said, trying to mask the undercurrent of concern.

"I don't want her to grow to love him, only to not have him. Wanting something you can't have…really starts to hurt after a while," she said sadly.

James walked closer, standing right in front of her, "This is bigger than just events spread over the last year or two, isn't it?"

Cuddy nodded. James smiled and he said, "If you don't want to lose him and you don't want Rachel to lose him, it shows how much he means to you. This is worth it to both of you, but again, it doesn't help if I know it. You both need to stop trying to play one or two moves ahead in the game and talk about the things you're thinking. After you tell him how you feel, ask him how he feels. He might not tell you right away, but he'll get there. You guys have to start somewhere or you'll both leave this experiment a lot worse for the wear. I don't think you _want_ to hurt each other, but if you aren't careful, that is exactly what is going to happen."

Standing there with the stirrings of complete worry on her face, she began to think about what to do next when James said, calmly, "If you want, I'll show you how to help him survive the bad moments. Pain and urges to use aren't so different. Both hurt, both require action and neither last forever if you can just find a way to make it through the moment. If he's in pain or feels the urge to use, don't feel like it's a failure on your part or on his, it's all part of the process. It will help if he feels he can discuss those feelings with you openly without guilt or negativity. The feelings aren't where the problems lie, the problems are always in the reactions to those feelings. He'll develop a set of steps to help him survive when he wants to use. I'll help him come up with a set of steps for when his pain becomes unmanageable that you can help with if you'd like."

"Yea, I can try."

"Trying implies that you feel there's a strong possibility that you will fail. Now, let's go get him out before he boils."

Cuddy thought while they walked back to get House and she asked, "Why did you lie to him about Rachel?"

"What?" James asked.

"Why did act like you didn't know that I adopted Rachel on my own?"

James smiled, picking up his pace toward the therapy room, "Well, well," he said victoriously, "I guess you guys do talk about things sometimes, don't you?"


	12. Accepting and Expecting

_A/N-Hey all, sorry for the lack of updates, I really needed a break from life for a few days, but I've had it, and here I am. I'll finish my Season 4 two-shot in the next two or three days, then I'll be back to this one to wrap it up._

_Thank you so much to all who have reviewed the last segment: IHeartHouseCuddy, JLCH, jkarr, JM, chebelle, lenasti16, OldSFfan, LapizSilkwood, jaybe61, Suzieqlondon, BJAllen815, freeasabird14, dmarchl21, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, byte size, BabalooBlue, LoveMyHouse, ikissedtheLaurie, Iane Casey, Guest, Fran, Huddyphoric, LizLo, grouchysnarky and Mon Fogel._

* * *

-Accepting and Expecting-

There are moments of intimacy in life that have nothing to do with sex or romance, some of the most intensely intimate moments fall into that category. Sharing the moment of a person's last breath, witnessing birth, the moment where a person confesses to another their moment of greatest loss, or a conversation where a person is willing to admit their gravest mistake. Truly sharing pain is one of those moments.

In some ways, House's isolation during the previous few years was safe. He didn't have to see the looks of pity, no need to hide occasional doses of morphine or disguise the extent of his Vicodin usage. He rarely had to let people see him when his pain was at its worst, not if he could hide in his apartment alone.

When House emerged from the hot tub, James patiently showed Cuddy some of the same coping mechanisms he showed House, and they developed a routine to deal with moments of extreme pain. House loved to solve puzzles and Cuddy wanted to make the world into the place she felt it could be if people applied enough effort, but neither of them had a cure for his pain. They could improve, ease, and misdirect the focus of pain, but they could not end it.

James left to do his own exercise program before work began. As House's pain faded from agonizing to throbbing, he finally removed Cuddy's hands from his body.

"You still don't want me to help you?" she asked.

"It's fine. Let's go back and go to sleep."

"It's not fine. Why do you do that? Why can't you just let me help you?"

"Like you do?" he asked.

"Sure."

"You aren't serious, are you?" House questioned, rubbing his own thigh as he considered his surprise.

"I am. When you want to be there, I let you."

"If you would have stayed awake last night, would you have let me watch Rachel while you did something else? Took a shower, did paperwork or whatever? No, you wouldn't have."

"Because it's not your responsibility. I don't expect you to take responsibility for the choices I made. It's a breeding ground for reasons for you to walk away."

"My pain isn't your responsibility."

"You probably think it is," she countered.

"You're wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said calmly, "you aren't honestly walking around feeling guilty about my leg, are you?"

"Sometimes," she commented after several silent seconds. "For the surgery, for the fact that you don't have Vicodin anymore now."

"Do you _search_ for things to feel guilty about? Is there a quota you have to fill? Stop feeling guilty. And I'm glad I'm no longer popping pills. Most of the time I feel really good. You should try feeling guilty for that. I completely blame you for about seventy percent of the stuff that feels good lately."

She stood, pacing around the room for a few seconds. "Even if I'm not responsible for your leg, it doesn't mean I don't want to help. I don't want you to hurt, and when you do, I want to help, and if I can't help, I still want to be there."

"I'm not responsible for Rachel either…but it doesn't mean I don't want to help. You saw what trying to lead two different lives was doing to you. Once you go back to the hospital it's pretty much impossible."

Cuddy faced him, pondering until a softer look crossed her face. "I think she likes you. Already. You did a great job with her."

"She likes everyone."

"No, she doesn't," Cuddy shook her head. "Kids figure people out pretty quickly."

"Based on this month's issue of whatever fashion magazine is on your coffee table?"

"Based on how people make her feel, whether her needs are met and she feels safe. That's it. Kids are simple and everyone gets a chance, but they judge. She did judge you…she just judged you favorably, and that confuses you."

They stopped when James came back into the smaller private therapy room. "Doing OK, folks?" he asked as he walked over to evaluate House.

House nodded, "Back to manageable."

"Well, you still have to get your exercise, let's go," James ordered.

Cuddy's eyes went to House to gauge his reaction and almost immediately she stood, walking directly in front of James, "You can't possibly think that is a good idea. Have you taken even a few moments to consider the amount of pain he was in earlier? The man could barely walk, and now you're going to ask him to go back out there and re-aggravate a muscle that was unbelievably tense to the point of agony? There has to be some sense applied. The least you could do is wait an hour or so, maybe do something modified rather than a full on routine!"

James nodded after Cuddy finished, waiting.

"You have no response?" Cuddy asked, tense, ready to fight.

"I didn't want to interrupt you."

"I'm done…"

"Dr. Cuddy, your concern is well-placed. It's also the reason why girlfriends should probably not be the attending physician for a patient," James added with a snicker.

"I'm the person who is here to look out for him and the person he wanted as a doctor. It was hardly major surgery. I'm who he chose and at the time…desperate times and desperate measures."

"You've done a great job so far, but I was just sort of rattling his chain. We are doing something modified. It's important to keep limber and not stop moving. If he stops moving, things bunch up even more," James responded.

"I'm looking out for my patient."

"I appreciate that, but his rapid detox is well past complete, you released him yesterday, so if you need to go on the offensive, do it as his girlfriend, not as his doctor. You don't have to be his doctor anymore, you can shift into your role in his personal life."

James was not certain if the look that followed was friendly or angry or a precursor to his possible death. "You…know what you're doing," Cuddy finally said, "I just need to make sure that we aren't pushing ahead when we need to let him rest. Moderation and common sense need to be applied to this situation."

"Agreed," James said, reaching out and patting her arm comfortingly, "last night was really hard for both of you. I want to be sure neither of you have to survive those episodes often. It's my goal to lessen them…not increase them."

Cuddy nodded, looking stressed and overwhelmed from the last few hours. Watching someone you love in agony is an emotionally painful circumstance.

James smiled, "I've got him all taken care of. Why don't you go back over and get some rest, and I'll make sure he makes it back to you safely."

"OK," Cuddy nodded.

She and House been seeing each other under the strange circumstance of his sickness and recovery, their moments almost entirely private. She wanted to leave and wondered how she should say goodbye to him in the presence of someone else. It was such a simple question, but she had no idea how he would react. Approaching slowly, she put her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. He looked at her with what seemed like appreciation. James politely stepped out of the room.

"House, if what he asks is too much, you need to advocate for yourself," Cuddy said firmly. "You know your body."

He nodded, "Thanks for learning the pain management routine. I hate that you have to deal with it."

"I don't _have_ to deal with anything," Cuddy took two steps toward the door and then asked, "Are you coming back over when you're done?"

"If you want."

"If _you _want," she returned. "You could bring your things and stay with us. No sense in wasting a room that could be used for a patient."

House looked momentarily shocked but then pleased, "Sure. That would be good."

"Good," Cuddy smiled before she nodded and left the room, passing James as he returned.

When the door clicked shut, James sat in front of House and sighed, "Wow. Does she have sister?"

House nodded, "It's really hot. I know. She's been screaming at me for years."

"That woman really likes you. For a few seconds, I feared for my personal safety," James chuckled. "I think you can stretch out, and be done for the morning."

"So you said I had to get my exercises done just to piss off Cuddy?"

"No, I wanted to tell you that there's a music festival in town, and I thought it would make a nice date. I think it's time you start spreading your wings, get out into the world. There's a lot of bliss to find that isn't here. It will take some walking once you get there, so you'll have to pace yourself. It's good exercise in the real world. Starts at noon."

"I have my appointment with Manly this afternoon."

"You can go after that."

"She'll work with my schedule, I think she has a little thing for me."

"Manly? Manly works with Manly's schedule."

"I'm very persuasive," House replied while he stood cautiously. "I'll take care of Manly. Where is this thing?"

James dug in his pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, pale blue flier with information about the festival. House took the paper and was at the door. He was standing in the doorway, and looked back at James. "Why pretend Rachel was mine?"

James stalled but answered, "I wanted to catch your feelings on her. Kids know when they're unwanted. The thing is, whether it's official or not, if you and her mother stay together long enough, she's effectively yours. If a kid sees you that way, for me, that's more important than any legal document or biological relationship. So, I figured I'd get a feeling for where you stood on the whole thing. If you were going to scream, 'that's not my fucking kid' or gripe just a little discontentedly or simply explain reality. You didn't do any of those things. It doesn't mean much, but, if you date the mother, the kid is part of your life. Based on your response, you'd be OK with that."

House tapped the door a few times and then added, "You have all of these thoughts on my relationship, are you sure there isn't a Mrs. Physical Therapist stowed away somewhere?"

"No…not yet. There's a lady in town who catches my eye, so maybe some day."

"You give out all of this advice, and you have a girl you're interested in but you can't seem to ask her out?" House asked, astounded.

"You know the saying, don't you? 'Those who can't do, teach.'"

"And you are one of the can't-do's?"

"Fortunately for you, my friend, there is the first part of the saying, 'Those who can, do.' You are one of the ones who _can_…so _do_."

House left and popped his head back through the door again, "You know what would make you intriguing to the woman who catches your eye? A job."

"I have a job."

"A better job. Something innovative…something like…a position at a prestigious teaching hospital. A program you could practically design, help to implement, eventually maybe even run, where you could help people who need help and can actually get better."

"Sounds awfully specific."

"Just something to keep in mind. In case it ever opens up. I'd hate for you to miss the most amazing opportunity _ever_."

* * *

Claudia Manly walked through the side entrance door she always used in the morning, preferring to arrive unseen and enjoy her daily ritual in peace. Every morning, Manly purchased breakfast at a coffee shop that was on her way to work. They knew her there, and every morning a barista prepared her the same dark roast coffee, something from Costa Rica that was full and rich, while they waited for her to select one of three possible breakfasts. Manly enjoyed her rituals.

She was four feet inside the door when she heard a voice that was already familiar, "Dr. Manly, such a lovely morning."

"Gregory, good morning," she answered gruffly, already feeling her day was practically ruined from the disruption of her normal morning routine, "now if you'll excuse me, I'll await the pleasure of your company this afternoon."

She found it easy over the years to be kind but forceful, gentle but unfaltering. Gregory simply needed to know what was expected of him and then he would be able to meet that expectation. Manly was certain her patient was already learning, respecting the lines she clearly drew when she left him behind in the hallway. Manly walked to her office, finding her assistant waiting and staring oddly at the space just beyond the approaching psychiatrist. "What's wrong, Lindsay?"

"Nothing, Dr. Manly, I'm just not used to you seeing patients so early," the assistant replied.

Manly turned slowly, directing her gaze to the space behind her and frowning immediately. "You can't make your own schedule. I'll see you this afternoon," Manly said as she went in her office, and, as expected, House followed.

"But, see, I have a very good reason for needing you to see me now instead of this afternoon," House said as he sat on her sofa, entirely unconcerned with her desire for peace.

"I don't care what your reason is. You are like a spoiled child. You expect to push yourself into any situation and get your way."

"And how I see it…is that my undying love for seeking truth helps me to stop at nothing until said truth is found."

"I'm eating my breakfast. I don't talk to any patients or participate in any meetings until after I have my breakfast and do my crossword. If you're going to stay here, you'll have to be quiet."

"OK," House answered.

Manly returned to her routine, trying to ignore House and whatever he chose to do to get her attention. She was successful for the first seven minutes. "What are you doing?" she asked angrily.

"Stretching," House answered from his standing position behind the sofa.

He was doing just that, the stretches that he did not finish during his session with James.

"In my office?" she asked through a tight jaw.

"James said I had to do my stretches, you said I had to wait to talk to you, seemed a fitting convergence of circumstances."

"Go stretch in the therapy room."

"If I'm there, I won't be conveniently waiting for you during a free moment."

"I don't see people at free moments, I see them during appointments."

"Well, I was going to explain all of that, but you wouldn't let me, so I'm doing my stretches and waiting," he countered confidently.

"I have an appointment in an hour and fifteen minutes…with a person who actually has the time reserved for them."

"So, if you have a free minute sooner, I can explain why I need you now and still have an hour long session."

"Absolutely not."

"Since I'm _not_ a spoiled child," House retorted, "I'll wait here, following the advice of the professionals whose care I am under, and I'll hope that there is a convenient break. Or that your curiosity gets the better of you. I think you'll find I have a really good reason."

Manly stared down at her newspaper, beginning her crossword and sipping her coffee, but within minutes asking, "What is it? What is it that you think is so vital that I drop everything to accommodate you?"

"I had a bad pain night last night."

"Did you relapse?"

"No."

"Good, I'll see you at one."

"Would you see me if I did relapse?"

"Of course I would."

"So, in this case, it would be better if I _did_ relapse? Sort of like rewarding bad behavior, isn't it?" he asked.

"No. If you relapsed, I'd see you at one. If you didn't relapse, I'd see you at one. No matter what happened, I'll see you at one."

"But I'll be busy at one."

"With?"

"There is a music festival in town."

"Yes. There is. Unbelievable food, fantastic musicians…what does that have to do with you and our appointment?"

"I want to go."

"Go after."

"By the time I get done here and down there, important hours will be wasted."

"And why, pray tell, is this festival so critical for you to attend?" she asked with escalating frustration.

"I was told music would be a much more intense experience now that I'm off Vicodin…something to revisit with my new, clean ears and brain. A reward for limping the straight and narrow."

"So true."

"So, can I?"

"Absolutely you can, I think it's a wonderful idea. You can leave when we are done this afternoon."

"I need the whole time. I'm a musician. It's part of seeking my bliss…finding things I love."

"You can still go after our session."

"I need to go to feed my spiritual side."

"Try again, you're laying it on too thick."

"…and I need something nice to do for my woman."

"The best thing you can do for _your_ _woman, _is invest some time in yourself so that you can become a healthier man, a better partner. She'll appreciate that. Did you spend any time interacting with her daughter last night?"

"I knew you were interested."

"I'm not," Manly said, shaking her head, taking a sip of her coffee and returning to her puzzle.

"If you were, I'd tell you something I'll probably never tell you again: You were right."

"About?"

"About the fact that kids don't carry the preconceptions that most adults do. And, to connect with a kid, you just show interest in something they're interested in."

"Diapers?"

"Food. I gave her food and found out she likes me. It's really weird, but she does."

"Why is it weird?" Manly asked, setting down her pencil.

"People don't like me. You don't like me."

"It's not that I don't like you," she said, sounding like she truly did not like him.

"But you don't."

"Your _woman_ probably does. I'd assume that it's more important that she likes you than it is that I do. Don't you think that _she_ likes you?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes? Why would she date you if she only liked you sometimes?"

"Does anyone like anyone else _all _of the time?"

"She must have liked your attempts with her child. Your efforts to connect with her baby."

"She slept through them. But yea, when she woke up, she liked most of what she noticed."

"She slept? Mothers are notoriously overprotective, particularly of babies, so it shows a certain level of trust and respect of your abilities."

"Or exhaustion."

"Well, parents can do amazing things to protect their children, and, from what I understand, they are often tired, so I'd suggest that it also demonstrates a certain level of trust. Do you really think she was so exhausted that she'd put her child at risk?"

"If she wasn't exhausted before, she is now. She was up half the night taking care of my leg, dealing with my pain."

"And this is why you need to do something nice for her?"

"Mostly," he admitted.

"You forced her to help you with your pain?"

"In a way."

"In what way? How do you force someone to deal with your pain?"

"I was there…and my pain disrupted her sleep. What was she supposed to do?"

"If she was exhausted or didn't care, I'd expect that she'd go back to sleep, or call someone else to deal with it. One phone call over here to a nurse, and someone on staff could have cared for you for the night. She could have used her child as an excuse to stay behind. Sounds like she dealt with it personally. _By choice._"

"She had to."

"No one _has _to. You could accept the possibility that she _wanted_ to be there for you, to help you. People don't always act out of obligation," Manly declared.

"She went to a funeral for an employee not that long ago, I'm sure that was out of obligation. It isn't like she had a personal relationship with him," he responded.

"Did she know him?"

"Yea."

"Did you know him?"

"Yea."

"Did you go to the funeral? Did obligation drive you to attend?"

"No, but I'm not the type to act on obligation, she is."

"Why didn't you go?" she asked with interest.

"What's the point? He was dead."

"Funerals are for the living. They're part of the grieving process."

"Who says I was grieving?" he huffed.

"It's just strange that your mind went to that event as proof of her behavior. It must be in your thoughts. You knew him. Did you work closely?"

"He was one of my employees, so yea."

"Did you like him?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just answer the question. Did you like him?"

House tapped his cane, bouncing it between his palms. "Yea."

"So you must have been sad or hurt by his death."

"I didn't really have a right to be."

"You knew him. You liked him. You had as much a right as anyone to be sad or hurt by his departure."

"I did say he was an employee, right?" House asked, scoffing.

"We, as human beings, have the right to feel sad or hurt or angry about the deaths of anyone whose lives cross paths with ours."

"I'm not exactly touchy-feely-supportive boss material."

"Just because you don't emote your feelings doesn't mean they aren't there."

"I'm a doctor, death is part of life. Completely inevitable."

"Was his? Was his death _inevitable_?"

"No," House sighed.

"Was it expected?"

"No. Suicide. He was young."

"So why didn't you go to the funeral?"

"I wasn't interested in sitting in a room, holding people's hands and crying. I was interested in figuring out what killed him."

"His exact cause of death was unknown?"

"No. It was known. I didn't think it was a suicide."

"What killed him?"

"A gun. A bullet."

"And what evidence drove you to believe that it was not suicide?"

"I didn't see it coming. It didn't make sense," he answered with a certainty that strangely made him seem more uncertain.

"When does suicide make sense, in your opinion?"

"Suffering terminal cancer patients. The guy who takes out his family through his own actions or inactions and is consumed by his own guilt. Suicide in those circumstances seems more reasonable. Logical even."

"Did you determine why he killed himself?"

"No. Yes. In a way. I concluded that his reasons to die outweighed his reasons to live."

"That does seem logical. Unfortunate though."

"It was. He was a good doctor."

"Why is his death more illogical than the man consumed by his own guilt or a terminal patient?"

"Because his life was not filled with pain. Of the physical or the guilty variety."

"You're in pain."

"Yes," he answered testily.

"So does that mean you've earned more of a right to commit suicide?"

"No, it means it would be less shocking if I did."

"What were the reasons why you think he did it? You were interested in what happened, you said his reasons to die outweighed his reasons to live. So what were those reasons?"

"I think…he was alone. To make it worse, no one knew how alone he was. I think he didn't ever see his life being more than endless loneliness."

"Did you feel that you should have noticed?"

"I notice everything else."

"So why didn't you notice that?"

"I don't know."

"Do you feel guilty for not noticing?"

"No," he retorted, too loudly.

A sad look flashed in her eyes, only briefly. "Do you feel alone?"

"Usually. Almost always. Less so lately."

"It's ironic that you think pain, emotional and physical, is a reason to no longer want to live, but you're still alive."

"I'm not suicidal."

"I didn't say that you were. But you excused suicide as the act of a person who is essentially overrun with pain. So in the end…do you really think he was in more pain than you?"

House stood, abruptly, "Thanks for seeing me early. I'll be back tomorrow. You've given me stuff to consider."

He was at the door with decent speed, but Manly was there well before him. "Don't even think about it. You disrupted my morning because you needed to see me…so have the courtesy of finishing. Sit down," she ordered with more authority than he expected.

House stared at the door, wishing himself elsewhere as he uncomfortably considered her request.

Manly's voice was still firm as she spoke, "Gregory, you want to seem so bold and fearless, like nothing intimidates you, but it does. Pain does. Pain of all kinds. So does failure. Your failure to save an employee, a coworker, maybe even a friend. Beneath it all, you aren't as heartless as you want to seem, or this wouldn't bother you. This death impacted you. Whether you want it to or not, or you feel worthy of being impacted or not, you were. You still are. His death was meaningful. The one thing that death seldom means…is nothing."

He walked heavily to the sofa, sitting down and nodding at her that he would continue. "I don't know if he was in more pain than me."

"Do you sometimes wonder why you've refused to give up? Why you've tolerated the pain and loneliness to continue living?"

"Sometimes."

"You are doing what you can to alleviate pain in your life. You also have a companion now. Hopefully that will help alleviate some of the loneliness."

"Hopefully."

"Why is it then that you feel so unworthy?"

"I don't."

"You do. Your behavior says that, no matter what your mouth says. You feel unworthy of mourning a coworker's death. Unworthy of feeling sad or hurt by it. You feel unworthy of the support of someone who loves you when you're in pain. Unworthy of her trust in regards to her child. That's a lot of unworthiness. You need to start seeing the _evidence_ that people care through your entrenched belief that they inherently don't. That perhaps their actions are indicative of those feelings. Then you should understand that you are _worthy_ of those bestowed feelings. Those instincts that people chalk up to maternal instincts can be so much more. Those instincts to care for those who we love, to protect them, to help them through their pain. Every human needs to have someone care for them like that. Children who grow up without those protections and support have lifetimes of issues overcoming that."

House's eyes went to hers for a moment, he felt the question hanging in the air, but didn't answer.

"It would be hard, wouldn't it?" Manly asked as if the question was strictly rhetorical. "It would be hard for a child who grew up like that because they would always feel unworthy of protection, support and love. Those children grow and then after they've been programmed to survive without that supportive environment, they seldom regain that feeling of worthiness. How do they learn to feel worthy of those things, as adults?"

"I don't know," he answered, avoiding the glimmer of empathy in her eyes that faded quickly.

"By the time we're adults, we're expected to be well-formed, to have been given the foundation and tools to cope with pain of all sorts, to accept and return affection and conduct ourselves in emotionally mature ways. Without that foundation…it's very much like expecting someone to do advanced calculus without ever having learned their numbers. It's not impossible, but, you sort of have to work backwards, find other things to fill in that foundation along the way. Must be hard…for _those_ kids."

"Must be."

"You can go enjoy the music festival. We'll consider this our session for today. I think we've had enough."

"Good."

"You don't have to _repay_ your companion for being by your side. That's part of what a person does in a relationship. Not only should you accept it, but you should grow to expect it. Both of you should accept and expect those things from each other. She was there because she wants to be. Show your appreciation if you want…for her, for her place in your life, but it's not a payment. Give, take, share, enjoy…do not repay. Relationships are not tit-for-tat. You don't have to keep score. Just be. Enjoy the fact that you are not lonely…I'm also guessing that you are not unloved. Now go."

House stood, started for the door and Manly added, "Gregory, if you show up tomorrow at any time other than one o'clock…not only will I not see you, but I'll get a restraining order. One means one."

* * *

When Cuddy answered her door, House was standing outside of it with his duffle bag. "I'd like to move into your room with you for the remainder or our stay here."

Rachel shrieked a delighted greeting when she heard the voice that was already becoming familiar. Cuddy smiled, "Would you?"

"If that's OK."

"Better than OK."

House tossed his bag onto the floor and added, "I also…would like you to accompany me this afternoon for an agonizing day of exercise."

"He's not pushing you too hard, is he?"

"By agonizing day of exercise, I mean a music festival in town."


	13. Freedom

_A/N-Apologies again for the wait. I split this chapter into two so I could publish something tonight. I thought that was better than waiting and posting a very long chapter._

_Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, housebound, lenasti16, BabalooBlue, jkarr, OldSFfan, LapizSilkwood, JLCH, JM, Guest, ikissedtheLaurie, chebelle, Suzieqlondon, IWuvHouse, Little Greg, freeasabird14, Celeste, dmarchl21, Alex, Abby, jaybe61, KiwiClare, HuddyGirl, Boo's House, CacauHousemaniaca, BJAllen815, harpomarx, Bakerstreet Blues and LoveMyHouse._

* * *

-Freedom-

One of the advantages of House's highly mobile childhood was the ability to thrive when dropped off in an entirely different place. The Stillwater Palliative Care Facility was not all that different from a military base, and House carved a niche there. Within the rather insular world of the facility, he found the things he needed. James was an interesting and entertaining friend and, through PT, exhausted House while giving him some tools to cope with pain. Rachel was a puzzle to solve and an interesting challenge, while being somewhat entertaining as well. Manly was someone to spar with, someone to irritate, and she was providing enough for House to think about for hours after each session.

Cuddy was lover, doctor, advocate and companion. As much as her efforts were initially needed, House began to consider ways to help her see him as something other than weak. She had seen so much, the depth of his insanity, the journey to detox and the worst of his leg pain, and these things impacted her more than she seemed to admit. He didn't want her to view him only through the lens of his darkest hour.

He wanted a life that was more than Vicodin, pain and loneliness. Sparing nothing, he was throwing himself into recovery like he threw himself into whatever case caught his interest. He quit Vicodin, he was involved in physical therapy, he was making real efforts with Rachel, he wasn't running from a relationship with Cuddy, and he was actually seeing a psychiatrist. His intentions were clear.

All of these efforts were on the grounds of Stillwater. The first step away from his institutional existence was to check out of his room in the medical portion of the facility to stay with Cuddy at the residence. He was not exactly sure how long such an arrangement would last, but packing his duffle bag and moving out felt like measurable progress. His appointments with Manly and sessions with James could continue while he tried his hand at a more normal daily existence.

A few hours after checking out of the medical facility, they were in Cuddy's car, driving to the music festival with windows rolled down. House was certain the air actually smelled different once they went through the gates, and he could feel the sun's rays permeating his black tee shirt and warming his skin. The long drive up to the facility felt like a walk to the gallows when he first arrived, but became an inviting path to adventure when leaving. The trip down to the relatively stereotypical rural town was quiet and short, but the line to park was surprisingly long.

When they reached the first parking attendant, an awkward man in a yellow safety vest, he informed Cuddy that special parking for the handicapped and elderly was a separate line, which seemed to move more slowly than the regular parking line. "Just forget it," House said, "I'm fine. I don't want to wait all day."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Cuddy asked, her eyes looking down at his leg.

"I'm not ninety, Cuddy, I'll be fine."

"Fine," she said, before informing the attendant of their intentions. Once they were driving again, pulling the car into an open, grassy field, she said, "I just didn't want your leg to act up and ruin your day."

"From the woman who's griped about providing me with handicapped parking spaces at work."

"Oh please," she countered, "you've always had a spot."

"Sometimes you thought I was exaggerating though, didn't you?"

"We're out in the world, what, ten or fifteen minutes," she shook her head, "and…we're arguing."

"What's wrong with you today?"

"What do you mean?" she asked defensively. "You are the one making insane allegations. You are the one who complains about needing handicapped spaces and then, when I try to get you one here, I'm treating you like you're ninety."

"You treat me differently than you used to."

"Yes, of course I do. We're dating, this is our personal life, this isn't work. You're what…you're complaining that I treat you too well?"

"Yes," he hollered back, "you are. Since we came here, you treat me like I'm some…delicate creature that's so fucking breakable."

"I can't win with you. I'm trying," she said, smacking the steering wheel as she navigated up the bumpy field to their parking spot, "but either I'm heartlessly keeping you from a good parking spot and not treating you like you're handicapped enough, or I'm coddling you and treating you like you're too handicapped. What works for you?"

"Stop trying to make everything so fucking perfect."

"Why don't you let me know the exact level of support you want, Goldilocks? You expect that I should know the appropriate level…not too much, not too little…just right."

"I'm fine! I don't expect perfection. You do."

Cuddy parked the car, staring ahead, her hands still angrily gripping the steering wheel. As angry as she was, as tense as her body language showed her to be, as frustrated as her voice sounded, she was no longer yelling, "Do you have _any_ idea what you were like when I found you at Kutner's apartment? _Any _idea what you were like while we waited to get in for treatment? You were not…_fine. _Do you know what it's like to watch someone suffer…to see someone in pain like you were in last night and not to be able to do anything stop it? I'm a fucking doctor…I'm supposed to know what to do when you feel that way. Fuck pressure points and massage, and get the fucking morphine. That's what my training tells me because I wanted to do anything to make it stop. And it goes against everything we are trying to do here. So I'm trying. I'm trying really fucking hard. It's worth it, but it is hard." She turned toward him, her cheeks bright red with anger and sadness, "And don't turn this around to be my unwillingness…because it's not. But this is _not _only about you. You can't seem to comprehend that someone cares to the point where it hurts. Maybe you don't want anyone to care to the point that it hurts." She opened the car door and leaned down to speak to him. "Meet me here at seven, I'll drive you back."

"Cuddy," he called after her, but she didn't turn back. Seeing the crowd of people moving toward the entrance, he knew it would be impossible to find her once they were inside, and he knew he would never catch up with her on that terrain, so he yelled after her, his voice booming, "_You_ are the coward who is running away."

"What?" she turned back, her fists clenched at her side.

"You are. You are walking away from this conversation. Not deflecting, actually leaving. You're hurt and you're hiding it. You aren't being honest. The same things you say that I do. You are doing them. Right now."

"I told you how I feel."

"For a few minutes, you were acting like you again. Yelling, getting pissed at me…it felt right. It's who you are. Since we got here, it's like you're only half there. So we were being us, and then you just dropped it and walked away. You are scared."

"Of course I'm _scared_," she argued through tightly clenched teeth.

"Of me?"

"No," she practically huffed, "of this... Of messing everything up. Ruining this chance. Ruining you."

"Ruining me? Many have tried…none have succeeded."

She laughed, more out of sadness than humor. "Consider what I've done just in the past few weeks. Ethically speaking. I'm secretly sleeping with an employee-"

"We'll deal with HR once we're back, I don't think I'll report you," he interrupted.

She continued, "An employee that I found looking close to…dead. He was hallucinating, drugged-"

"Which you helped me get through."

"And then I continued to sleep with him once he was my patient."

"A fact that your _former _patient _really _appreciates."

"James was right. This is the reason why a girlfriend should not be making medical decisions. I'm too close."

"They do all of the time. You just happened to be the one wearing the white coat _and _holding my hand."

"What I've done is unethical," she stated certainly.

"I do stuff people _think_ is unethical all of the time. Sometimes it's the only way to do it."

"It was still unethical."

"What were my other options, Cuddy?" he asked, his tone becoming more serious. "I would not have gone to rehab. You are the only doctor I wanted there. So if it's between traditionally accepted ethics and what's actually _right_…what's it gonna be?"

"I did it…I broke the rules…those I didn't break I definitely bent. And I did it because I wanted to help you. I didn't want you to continue to be so unhappy and in so much pain."

"Stop…talking. Seriously. It isn't about rules or what _should_ or _shouldn't_ be right…it is about what _IS _right. Look at me! Do I look worse than when you found me at Kutner's? Do I look worse than when we showed up here?"

She was looking at him, still shaking her head from her earlier denial of the prudence of what she had done, but while she looked at him, his transformation in a couple of weeks was amazing. He posture was a bit straighter, his stance stronger, his body certainly didn't look weak anymore. He looked rested, his skin no longer ashen and eyes no longer bloodshot. The sweat and anguish and desperation were gone from his face. Even during his episode the night before, when he was in so much pain, he still did not look the way he looked before his treatment. "You look great," she admitted, "you do."

"You should look at yourself too…because for someone who just did something _soooo_ terrible…you look pretty good too."

"Last night-"

"I feel good. Better than I have. My leg sucked last night, but I got through. You helped."

"And I almost grabbed the morphine. I almost _threw_ you off the wagon," she confessed.

"Almost failing isn't the same as failing. If it was the same, an awful lot of _almost_ dead patients I've had would actually be dead. James said that with you I…put a lot of eggs in one basket. The thing is, you are the basket I want my eggs in."

"As flattering as that is, it puts all of the responsibility on me."

"No, it doesn't. Why do you think I'm trying Manly and working with James? Manly knows minds, James knows PT, Wilson…he's there for guy stuff, and you…I need you. I need _Cuddy_. I need all of you. It's like…a team."

"I'm glad you're finding what you need."

"I'm busy trying to…find ways to repay you for what you've done to help me, and you're busy feeling guilty for what you've done. That's seriously screwed up," he accused.

"You don't have to repay me."

"Fine. But I wouldn't change the detox or my treatment or any of this. I certainly wouldn't change this outcome. So what do you have to feel guilty for? It's quite possibly the most moronic reason to feel guilty…ever."

"I've tried really hard to hold all of this together…to spend enough time with Rachel, to be with you, to make sure you're taken care of to-"

"Stop. Stop _trying_ so hard to do those things. You don't have to. My treatment is done. Rachel and I get along. We're fine. You are the only person currently worried about Rachel and I. And you, yelling at me…feels normal. I like it. Stop acting like I'm dying. Shriek at me when you're angry-"

"_Shriek_ at you?"

"You know what I mean. Disagree, yell, scream, whatever. Stop worrying and stop feeling guilty for something when there is _nothing_ to feel guilty for."

She stood there, arms folded, face stoic, thinking.

"You know," he said with a smirk, "your irritation is making me hard."

"That statement…is so wrong."

"And your criticism is making my nipples tingly."

Her hand went to her mouth as she looked away, trying not to smile or chuckle, but finally allowing her expression to soften, she said, "You are so infuriating, House."

"Does that mean your nipples are tingly too?"

Shaking her head with disbelief, she slowly returned her gaze to him, "I hope this works out for you. I hope…," she looked away again, carefully contemplating, "I hope it works out for me too."

He stared down at the way his fingers were tapping on his cane. "I do too." They stood, still a few feet apart, each mindlessly surveying their surroundings when House said, squinting into the air, "I haven't been in a relationship for a long time so I forget some of the customs. Do we have to hold a grudge and spend all day _withholding_, or can we try to have a good time? Because it's my first day out of the Clink, so I'd like to have fun. I think fun would be more fun if you felt like having it to…preferably with me."

She looked at him, assessing, finally, with her fingers wedged in her jeans' pocket, extending her elbow out to him. He casually stepped forward, linking his arm through hers, and they began to walk toward the glut of people at the entrance.

Even standing in line, the wide cultural variation of attendees was obvious. The event itself was ridiculously overpriced, and although some vendors had the standard festival fair, fried foods and sweet drinks, there was also a more upscale element that attracted finer foods and wines. There were several stages featuring different types of music, usually in clearings carved out of the dense woods. The afternoon was filled with music, they spent time at almost every stage, and they shared bits of food. Although they were surrounded by people, they anonymously blended into the crowd.

They spoke occasionally, but the music was loud and it gave them the ability to spend time together, perfectly at ease and often silent. He learned so much about her, about her reactions to sounds and melodies, about interests, about connections to emotions often buried or at least veiled. House was in his own heaven. The place was full of musicians who truly loved music, mostly unpaid artists sharing their craft.

House enjoyed sampling the sounds of a few handmade custom guitars. Cuddy was looking around the make-shift shop, talking to the old man who created such precise instruments with his thick, gnarled hands. While she was talking, she heard House picking at a song, finding the basic notes and rhythms, cycling through the melody a few times before starting again with more elaboration. She moved slowly toward him, captivated by the sound. He looked up at her, continuing to play while she approached.

"You know the song," she asked, "the song my grandmother used to hum?"

"Apparently."

With each progression through the melody, the song became a little more complex, with the heart of the tune remaining the same.

"I've always wanted to know what it was. Where'd you learn it?" she questioned excitedly.

"My girlfriend hums it to her kid," he answered, speaking while it looked like he was thinking about something else, his mind splitting its attention between their conversation and the music.

"You learned it…from me humming it to Rachel once?"

"You went through the melody a few times."

"_That_ explains how you would know the whole thing…and be able to play it," she replied, obviously shocked by his ability to turn a barely known song into the piece he was playing.

"Hum it so I can hear if I have it right."

"Not here," she said, looking around.

"I didn't say, 'hum it topless.'"

"I can't."

His fingers nearly stopped while he stared, just barely plucking through the notes. He shook his head, eyes widening with confusion.

"What?" she asked.

"Didn't occur to me that something like that would scare you."

"It doesn't _scare _me. I'm just not…I'm not a musician."

"I didn't ask you to play it on a pipe organ…just hum it. Play your mouth. And I know you can pl-"

"Fine," she interrupted, walking around behind the stool he sat on.

"If you _want_ to hum it topless that would be OK."

She watched him jump when she roughly poked his side in retaliation, commanding, "Play."

They started, together, Cuddy making only enough noise so that he could hear her from inches away. They had shared intimacy in many forms over the recent weeks, through sex and love, pain and growth, and then, so beautifully, through music, the sounds made by each of them complemented each other so perfectly. The old guitar maker, with his gnarled hands, picked up one of the other guitars, his grin showing from underneath his untrimmed mustache. His fingers moved with unexpected grace and speed while he played along.

Cuddy could almost hear her grandmother's voice in the echoes and hollows of the notes played by the musicians. She looked at House, he was existing in a moment of perfect happiness and freedom, his one ear tilted toward her so he could hear the soft near-whispers of the sounds her voice created. The moment was cathartic in a way, nearly a full rebirth from the anguish of earlier days to a place that was free of baggage, pain or fear.

In that moment, watching him, she realized that she'd never been more in love. She leaned closer, her one arm moving around him, her hand settling on his waist. From that spot, the tops of her fingers touched the back of the guitar so she could feel the vibration of the instrument as truly as she could hear it. Her torso moved toward his, he could feel the vibrations of her body like she could feel those from the guitar.

The tune wandered a bit, the song itself seemed to not want to end, holding onto its existence for as long as it was allowed, but then eventually accepting its own end. His eyes moved patiently up to her face, catching her smile. Although he only held her gaze for a few seconds, it was enough to tell her exactly how he felt about her.

Cuddy rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand tightening its grip on his waist, because, although the song was over, she had no desire to let go of the moment. He touched his temple to her head, nudging her in an informal show of affection. Looking around the perimeter of the temporary shop, he realized they had a small crowd who had gathered to watch. Their display of affection seemed both strange and inevitable, and just as pleasant as the music that led them to the moment.


	14. Freedom, Part 2

_A/N-Thank you to all who have reviewed since the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, LizLo, OldSFfan, Mon Fogel, jaybe61, LoveMyHouse, BabalooBlue, JM, JLCH, Guest, jkarr, Little Greg, BJAllen815, ikissedtheLaurie, chebelle, Boo's House, Suzieqlondon, devonfc, iridescentZEN, Reader, freeasabird14, vicpei1, LapizSilkwood, Ana anamq, Alex, Abby, HuddyGirl and monikika123._

_Shooting for Friday for the next update, but I'm driving all over the place for work again…so we'll see. As to questions about the next fic…I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm doing after this one. There are a few ideas floating around._

_This is the second part of the previous chapter. Smaller chapters are easier for me to get together._

* * *

-Freedom, Part 2-

Cuddy listened while House and the old guitar craftsman tried different tunes, and she wondered how it was possible that she had not seen more of House like that before. They spent so much time _around_ each other, and so little time _with_ each other over the years. She had insisted that he continue when he offered to leave. She was enjoying both the music, and the pure happiness that playing seemed to provoke in him. She wished she knew how to play something because the entire scene was so inviting that parts of her desperately wished she was part of it, while other parts of her enjoyed being able to study him when he was less resistant to being studied, really, less guarded over all.

As dusk began to settle over the festival, lights appeared along walkways and in front of vendor stands. There were Chinese lanterns, holiday lights and strings of big clear bulbs, each stand was lit by the individual vendor, creating a whimsically varied atmosphere as they progressed through the grounds. Many clearings had fire pits for light and warmth because the night air in the wooded area cooled quickly and drastically in places where the crowd was thin. From the highest point, visitors could look down at the delicate streetlights of the quiet small town below, strangely peaceful next to the wilder atmosphere of the festival.

While walking to the main area where the final performances would be held, they passed a drum circle. The rhythms of such gatherings were always interesting, prone to the changes and whims of the crowd creating the music without an official song. The participants of the group ranged wildly in age and skill level, some who were obviously trained percussionists, but most were just people who wandered by and wanted to be part of the music. House watched while Cuddy's interest transferred to the circle. "Try it," he encouraged.

"I don't know how."

"You don't know how to what?"

"Play the drums," she said, staring ahead at the source of the music. She wasn't moving, but her body seemed to almost vibrate and breathe with the sounds.

"You don't have to know _how_ you just hit it." She was ignoring him, still staring. He moved behind her, leaning down and whispering, "It's like dancing, and I know you know how to dance. I remember."

She smirked at him over her shoulder, but said nothing. His hand slipped under hers and he moved it to her hip. Keeping her hand over his, he began to match the dominant rhythm. She leaned her shoulder back against his chest, feeling the music around her and the thump of his hand against her body. "Stop thinking about it," he said, "this is music, it isn't thinking. This isn't planned. You don't have to get it right because…there is no wrong answer. Go try it."

She looked over her shoulder at him, clearly considering and then hesitating.

"Just try it," he whispered encouragingly. "No one knows you here, do something different."

She looked between him and the crowd, considering, and then nodded at him, "I'll be right back."

Walking like a person attempting to look casual to hide their underlying nervousness, she went to the area where available instruments were placed. Two girls, probably ten or eleven years-old, smiled at her. The one seemed to be offering advice and in a few minutes, Cuddy started tapping the surface of the instrument. She was forcing it at first, but in a few moments, as she seemed to find the music, she started playing in a more relaxed way. The two girls sitting near her were smiling their encouragement and it was as if she forgot herself. Cuddy started to really feel the music, her face free of stress and tension, her smile wide when the girls next to her would make her laugh.

Between her happiness and the freeness she exhibited, in the orange glow of the fire, she looked truly gorgeous. A few times her eyes went to him, verifying his presence, smiling at him through the sea of surrounding people.

House sneered when someone stood next to him, interrupting his chance to watch Cuddy like that, until the figure asked a question, "Having fun, Gregory?"

House turned to find Claudia Manly standing next to him. "Yea, I am," he answered openly.

Manly looked superficially different. She was dressed casually, but upon closer inspection, she even wore jeans and a perfectly fitted shirt in an uptight fashion.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said while he looked at her.

"I wanted to see what was so important that it was worth you disrupting my schedule."

"Seriously?"

"No," Manly chuckled, "there isn't a lot that goes on here in town, so when there is something, most of us show up. I was just on my way out and saw you…looking at something rather amorously. I was intrigued."

House continued watching Cuddy, he saw the two girls near her, standing to dance with each other, silly and carefree, filled with youth.

"Children can be so unapologetically optimistic," Manly noted as she scanned the crowd.

"They'll learn," he countered.

"You aren't optimistic?"

"I don't know. Maybe occasionally. Usually not at all."

"You're situationally optimistic?"

"I always expect everything will go wrong. That doesn't sound optimistic."

"No, it doesn't."

"So, overall, I'm not."

"Clearly. What are you the other times?" Manly asked, watching House watching Cuddy.

"Well, I expect that things will go wrong…I anticipate that outcome."

"But?"

"No matter how many times I've learned…through disappointments, during my infarction, all of those times when my hypothesis that everything will go wrong is proven to be true…it doesn't seem to stop me from…hoping that this time things will be different. Usually that hope fades pretty quickly because it doesn't seem to take long for it to be dashed. "

"Does anticipating pain make it less painful when it arrives?"

"I don't know."

"Let's say, just for fun," Manly stated, "that sixty percent of the time you come to my office, I knee you in the groin."

House turned quickly to her, "I had a totally different interpretation of the phrase 'tough love' but go on." Manly actually smiled a little, not much, but more than during any of their sessions. He continued, "Not a whole lot of incentive for me to show up then."

"I guess," she concurred, "but, what if forty percent of the time, I'm able to give you something that makes you feel great for the next month?"

"More tempting."

"You can spend your good month worrying that your next visit will mean my knee to your groin. You can assume the entire time that, due to probabilities and research, the next time, I'm going to hurt you. So you waste the whole month expecting the pain."

"At least I'll know it's coming."

"It won't make it hurt any less when it comes. Getting kicked in the balls, Gregory, will always feel like getting kicked in the balls. Whether you are expecting it or not."

"Been kicked in the balls a lot?"

She smiled, "Don't waste your good months preparing for something that may or may not happen. Enjoy your good month."

"But," House said argumentatively, "perhaps I could learn from your behavior. Wear a cup. Learn evasion tactics."

"You could."

He smirked victoriously, "Sometimes expecting the bad outcome is advantageous."

Manly shook her head, "No. Expecting it is just expecting it. Your mind states that it knows the outcome so you can tell yourself you knew all along. You can spend the whole time worrying about it, but nothing changes. Wearing a cup is anticipating sure, but it's also preparing…it's making a counter move to what could go wrong."

"You're splitting hairs."

"No, I'm not. Assess the situation realistically. See the possible outcomes, don't dwell on them. Know that…there is a chance that I'll hurt you tomorrow. Make a move, prepare for it, but don't waste time worrying about it. Once you've made a good, strong, well-thought out counter move, there's actually less need to worry because if things go wrong, you're prepared. Then you can walk into your situation with less concern. Ready to absorb the impact of things if they go wrong and fully ready to accept something more pleasant if that's the way things go."

"Do you ever stop being a shrink?"

"Do you ever stop being a doctor?"

House was looking ahead, his eyes again finding Cuddy, who was just putting her drum back and saying goodbye to her newly made friends. He asked Manly, "So in life, the functional equivalent of a cup…is what? You? You said something to absorb the impact of things if they go wrong…prepare. Going to a shrink is like that. _You_ want to be my life's nut-guard," he taunted.

"Perhaps my example was a poor one," Manly responded calmly. "How about…instead I'll be judo. Forget about absorbing impact, and learn how deftly counter the worst of the assault."

"What if I think I should wear a cup anyway, just in case?"

"James," Manly nodded, "he can serve that function."

House smirked at the glimpse of Manly's humor. Cuddy was walking back toward them, smiling, hips swaying while she approached. "Hey Claudia," Cuddy said when she arrived, extending a friendly hand, "good to see you."

"I was just heading out," Manly said, pointing at a surprisingly easy-going looking man who was approaching. "I was waiting on my husband. Wanted to say hi, and make sure Gregory was enjoying the real world again."

"I hope he is," Cuddy responded, looking past Manly at House, "I'm having a great time."

Manly looked back and forth, obviously assessing, "I'm sure he is. See you tomorrow, Gregory."

"Eleven am, right?" House teased.

"If you want that restraining order," Manly insisted, with a polite nod, "that's the time to show up. Otherwise, I'll see you at one."

* * *

An hour later, they were along the periphery of the largest gathering, House sitting on an upended barrel, Cuddy standing next to him. Her body and mind more at ease than House thought he had ever seen them. Her hips were swaying, she was no longer considering the music or thinking about her surroundings, she surrendered her control to the noise around her. She was snacking on a dessert, a bowl filled with smashed frozen berries, honey and lime that seemed to be tickling her sense of taste as pleasantly as her other senses were being stimulated.

She turned and grinned at him, her lips a bit dyed at the center from the fruit concoction, her face lit by the string of clear-bulbed lights at the vendor stand behind them.

"Having fun?" House asked, more because he wanted to hear her voice than for the actual answer. The answer was obvious.

She nodded slowly, poking the dessert with her spoon.

"What's going on inside your head?" he asked, feeling that she was as inscrutable as she often found him.

She shrugged, looking at him playfully for a moment but still largely concentrating on the band and the crowd of moving people around them. His mind was almost immediately engaged, searching for signs of hesitation or unhappiness in her and finding none. Then he was distracted by the way she was surveying the area and, only moments later, by the knowing expression that crossed her face.

"What?" he asked.

She turned, smirked, her eyes taking in exactly how he looked at that moment. She tossed the nearly empty container in the garbage and picked up his hand from where it rested on the barrel. Grabbing his cane, he limped after her. "Are we back to the you-killing-me thing again? Plenty of places to bury a body here. Lots of people to frame…," he guessed.

She slowly pushed him back against the vendor shack once they were behind it. "My lips are cold," she stated calmly.

"That is the first time that line has been used on me," he teased. After she pressed her lips quickly to his chin, he confessed with a slight smile, "They _are_ cold."

She leaned up while he slouched down and she captured each of his lips, one at a time between hers. "Still talking?" she asked sweetly, her hands on his shoulder for balance as she lifted so she could kiss him more fully.

Her lips sent jolts to his senses, the coldness of them, the familiar softness of her mouth, the sweetness of her retreating tongue when he surrounded it with his lips. Her hands ran from his shoulders, along his neck, one hand pressing firmly down his chest before working around to his back. She pulled back to look at him, her hands insistently drawing his hips forward. "Warm enough?" he asked.

She shook her head 'no,' kissing his lips twice before moving to his jaw and the top of his shoulder.

"Was there a shot of liquid Ecstasy in your dessert?" he asked, happily confused.

"House?" she questioned raspily.

"What?" he asked, drawn back into kissing her.

She spoke softly, "Shut up. I'm trying to seduce you."

She could see his synapses go on rapid fire and feel how aroused he was becoming. She could almost hear him wondering if he should suggest they find somewhere more suitable, or if he should let things progress and risk the chance that she would stop later. "Seducing me requires very little actual _trying _on your part," he confessed, his eyes covered with disappointment when she pulled away.

She stepped backwards slowly, three steps, her eyes never leaving him, "Are you coming?"

"Where?" he asked hopefully.

She just grinned, she was evading, teasing, silently offering, knowing she was making him a bit crazy. They neared a structure, something that was at one time a barn, and he watched while two people dressed in costumes walked away. She hurried toward the entrance while he followed as quickly as he could.

Once inside, there were racks of costumes, instrument cases and coolers, it seemed to be a staging area for performers. Cuddy continued to walk, looking around for an acceptable location. The barn seemed deserted, most people were attending the party that seemed to only continue to get more enthusiastic and raucous just outside of the building. She was down a hall toward the far end of the building and turned around to smile, beckoning him forward with a finger. He hurried toward her, making a mental note to learn how to make a theoretical Ecstasy Smoothie at home.

At the back of the space, there were lines of changing rooms, probably once stalls for animals in a building that was neatly repurposed and decorated to be used during festivals and shows. Cuddy waited in front of one of the empty rooms, grabbing a handful of his tee shirt and pulling him through the door. She pushed the door shut with her knee, her hands engaging the sliding bolt to latch the door. She pulled off her shirt and tugged at his, and given her initial speed, his mind raced to the belief that this was going to be quick, hot and passionate.

After their shirts were removed, she kissed him once and spun around in his embrace, pulling his arms tightly around her. She trapped his hands under hers, directing their movement. Pulling his one hand up to cup her still covered breast, she moved his other hand low on her tummy while she circled her hips against him. She was watching him over her shoulder while she moved her body in precise waves against him. It was easy to see, the exact moment when he felt playful and teased, enjoying the fun of the encounter, to when the switch flipped and it became something different. It flipped when she directed his hands down to her hips, encouraging him to feel the promising motion of her body against his, pressing her ass back against his pelvis. He groaned, the fun gone from his eyes when need replaced it.

She smiled at him, feeling the lust, enjoying the response she wanted to provoke. She wanted to be chased, desired and physically needed by his entire being. Continuing to trap his hands on her hips, she used the rhythm of the music outside to move provocatively against him and started to feel his body rocking forward against her, pushing against the full softness of her ass. He was desperately hard, wondering himself how long he could stand being touched the way he was being touched, but he did not want it to end either.

Feeling the need for more, she shifted his hands to the button of her jeans so he would open them. His natural urge to ignore direction forced him to temporarily ignore the button and lower one hand to cover her sex, lifting her body back against him. She gasped at the unexpected pressure against her, arching her back while she pushed against him as roughly as she could. While he was finally unbuttoning her pants, she opened her bra, tossing it on the ground near her shirt.

His hand slid into her jeans and under her panties, pressing immediately against her sex just to make her moan again. He moved his other hand to her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the jolt of sensation a noticeable counterpoint to the gentler way his finger was sliding between her soaked folds. "Is this what you were thinking about…when you were out there, quietly teasing me?" he asked gruffly in her ear.

She moaned and nodded, her body rocking against him without any thought anymore, she was driven by her need for him. He pushed two fingers inside her, his other arm wrapping around her torso to hold her against him. "Do you think about it a lot?" he asked. "Do you think about the things you want me to do to you?"

She bobbed her head as she leaned back against his chest.

"Really?" he pressed.

"Uh-huh," she agreed, reaching behind her back to open his jeans.

She caressed and fondled him at first over his clothes, the barrier between them unnecessarily muting the sensation. Once she had his clothing pushed far enough out of her way, her hand pumped steadily along his length as his arms tightened around her. He finally growled, unable to exercise any more patience, "I need you. Now."

They parted momentarily, each removing only their own clothes because it was the fastest way to get to where they needed to be. Bent at the waist, she backed against him again, leaning forward and bracing a hand against the wall. He slid forcefully into her heat with one needful motion while his hands, one on her hip and one pressing down against the small of her back, directed her body. And then he practically froze. She started to press back against him immediately, desperate for depth and friction, but his other hand went to her hip to hold her still.

There were a few seconds where being joined was enough, where he felt his body both perfectly tense and stimulated at the same time. As perfect as those few seconds of near-satisfaction were, their bodies were both almost immediately screaming for the next step, for more of each other. He tightened his jaw as he moved with as much calm as he could muster, taking long paced exits and smooth deep returns, reaching the fullest depth in her body. She calmed herself, trying to move with as much patience and concentration as he was.

He looked over her body, barely lit but unbelievably beautiful, with the sight and the feeling of her rocking against him while the tight comfort of her body surrounded him. He had to close his eyes but found himself still peeking at her because he could not seem to stop. His hand found her sex, not concentrating on one spot or trying to rush her to finish, just pressing evenly against her. The indirect but firm pressure would become most full when he was deepest inside her, then he'd relax the pressure as he retreated.

She moaned his name loudly, only covered by the loud clamor of music and revelers outside, and she jerked desperately back to him, forcing him to adjust to a faster pace because she demanded it. That moment where he could completely let go, the moment when he could entirely surrender to his body's desires, was long awaited and as filled with overpowering sensations as he had expected. He picked up his pace to hers, even hurrying her along, he repeatedly pushed into her welcoming body. She came loudly, her fingers rigidly gripping into the wall, his hands on her hips so they'd never miss a beat in their dance, and then he came with her, so hard that he was convinced their bodies were no longer touching the earth. It was that flash where everything, the buildup and desire, the love and passion, everything melded into one intense explosion of freeing sensation. The tension drifted away while they rocked together slowly, trying to eke out a few last pleasurable sensations before such touches became either too intense or practically impossible while they were awash in their own dizzy aftershock. He took a few steps back, bringing her with him, slouching back on a bench in the room, the only furniture available. Their bodies jellied, bones and muscles refusing to support their structures while they melted together in a place and position that would have been uncomfortable under any other circumstance.

"This is one of my best days," House commented as he stared up at the high ceiling.

"Welcome back to life on the outside."


	15. Silence

_A/N-Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: LapizSilkwood, JLCH, JM, LoveMyHouse, lenasti16, housebound, jaybe61, freeasabird14, Boo's House, BabalooBlue, IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, the Guest Reviewers, Suzieqlondon, Reader, Victoria, Celeste, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, dmarchl21, chebelle, Mon Fogel and Ann._

_A few more chapters left. The next one should be up Monday/Tuesday._

* * *

-Silence-

The problem with a taste of freedom is that one taste is seldom enough. Freedom, like so many things, can be addictively alluring. During the next few days, House did what was required, he saw Manly, exercised with James, but he, along with Cuddy and Rachel, often explored places away from the grounds in the evenings. He was growing tired of institutional life. His angry younger self still lingered occasionally in his dreams, a frustrating fact that had not changed.

He woke Cuddy in the middle of the night a few days after the festival. "I want to go home."

"Right now?" she asked, yawning.

"Aren't you ready to go back?"

"Yea," she agreed, "if you are. I miss work…and home."

"I'll talk to Manly and James."

"I talked to a few people on the board, but I don't know about making a whole department for him."

"I can help with the board."

Cuddy shook her head, "You think you can sell it?"

"I want to present it with you. We can convince them."

"You…are offering to attend a board meeting? Possibly several?"

"I need this. You need this. It's good for your hospital. Good for him, he needs this too. Just make it happen."

She sat up, leaning against the headboard. "This is really important to you?"

"Yes. He's going to wither away here. That would be like me working as a GP for the rest of my life."

She nodded, "I'll see what I can do."

"No," he shook his head, "make it happen. I'll…I'll give you two question-free cases."

"Question-free cases?"

"I'll take two cases of your choice without arguing…without any questions asked."

Tilting her head as she thought, her eyes went wide, "Wow, you really want this."

"Yes!"

"Two cases…you will take two cases without a _single_ question or argument. Any two I want?"

"Any two."

"Alright."

"To make it clear, I'll take them without arguing, but it doesn't mean I'll avoid arguing or questioning during the diagnosis."

"That was understood," she agreed with a sleepy smile.

"I'll also show up in your office to guide you to ecstasy, using the method of your choosing, at any time you may select," he offered with sincerity.

"Just twice?"

"No, that offer is open for the duration," he grinned.

"Nice try," she said as she settled back into bed. "Wilson called yesterday to check on you. You should call him."

"I will. Tomorrow."

"He actually…said Cameron wanted to remind us that we're invited to her wedding."

"_We're_ invited?"

"Yea. We're invited."

"Does everyone know we're here together?"

"Only Wilson officially. I don't know if he told anyone else, but…face it, there have been rumors about us for years. And now we're both gone for weeks together. There are bound to be more rumors. Does that bother you?" she asked, surprised.

"Me? No it doesn't bother _me."_

"We have some time to think about it. If you want to go."

She pulled the covers around her to return to sleep, expecting that he would be climbing back into bed with her. She got up again when she heard House leave the room. He was standing behind the sofa, calmly stretching his leg while his eyes moved over a newspaper resting on top of the furniture. "Pain?" she asked.

"A little sore, not horrible."

"Something else wrong?"

"Are these yours?" he asked, pointing at a few printed out pieces of paper on the coffee table.

"Yea," she answered hesitantly. "I was just doing some research."

He reached over to pick them up, printouts of a few different models of jetted tubs and treadmills. "For the hospital?"

"For home," she answered, sitting on the sofa on top of her feet. "I thought maybe you could use them. The jets would help with your leg. I wouldn't mind having a tub like that anyway. Once we leave here…"

House went back to reading the newspaper, letting the conversation drop except for the muttered word, "We."

"OK?" she asked, turning on the sofa to face him, "what in the hell just happened?"

"Nothing."

"Something happened. You're…staring at the paper, with the emotionless face."

"You want emotion…about a tub?"

"I looked at things for my home to make you more comfortable once we leave here. I'd like to know what you think about that."

"Forget it."

"No. I won't forget it. I'm not forcing you to move in, but I hoped you'd be around. Is hoping that you'll come over too much of a commitment for you?"

"Nope," he answered, still staring at the paper.

"Or…is this about Cameron and Chase's wedding?"

"That's a stupid question. It's not about them."

"That was when you left the room, so it's not a stupid question."

"No," he answered sighing, "everything's fine."

"You aren't going to talk about this?"

"Nope. Nothing to talk about."

"If you don't want to tell me what's going on, I'm going to bed before this argument turns into something we regret. I'm not trying to trap you. I knew you were getting ready to go home…the hot tub is part of your routine here. I'm not going to force you to hang out at my place."

"It's not that," he answered, barely in the conversation.

"Then what is it?"

"I said forget it."

"When you want to tell me what happened…come get me. And I'll do my best to avoid being thoughtful in the future," she said as she went back to the bedroom.

An hour later, House disappeared into the grounds of Stillwater, knowing that he wouldn't have many more days there. He met with James, ate lunch and wasted time, trying to avoid Cuddy while he thought. At twelve-fifty-six, House stormed into Manly's office. Without looking up, Manly extended a finger and pointed at the door.

"It's four minutes," he protested, "by the time I get over to your sofa, it will be two minutes."

Manly said nothing but continued to point at the door. House trudged out of the room, standing just on the opposite side, tapping his cane on the wall over his shoulder until he heard Manly buzz through to her assistant and he walked right in.

"It's that important to you? Four minutes?" House asked as soon as the door was open.

Manly folded her hands on the desk, "How are you today, Gregory? You don't look well."

"I'm fine. Apart from the irritation of having to stand outside of your office."

"You're unhappy today?"

"No, I'm not."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"I can't speak for _everyone_ but if you acted like you are acting now I can see why they'd ask. Who else thinks something is wrong?"

"Forget it."

"Forgetting it would be the opposite of my job," Manly said, sitting back in her chair.

"Nothing is wrong."

"OK," she conceded. "Dreams last night?"

"No."

"That's good."

"I didn't dream because I didn't do much sleeping."

"Why didn't you sleep?"

"I don't know."

"Problems with your leg?"

"No more than normal," House said as he sighed, looking disinterestedly around the room.

"Concerned about going home?"

"No. I can't wait to get out of here and get the inevitable over with."

"What is it that's inevitable?"

"Work…a return to normal."

"So when you go back to work your pain will become unmanageable and you'll be back on Vicodin?" she questioned skeptically.

"I'll be back at work. I'll be…House. Cuddy will be Cuddy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means things will be normal."

"Who are _you_ usually at work?"

"I'm me."

"So the problem is when Lisa returns to work?"

"Your husband," House asked, "I'm guessing he's…an engineer? Chemist? Programmer? Given your obsession with time…maybe a clockmaker?"

Manly leaned on her desk, "He is none of those things."

"Help me make my point. What does he do?"

"Why is it important?"

"You're uptight."

"It's important because you perceive my behavior as uptight?"

"Cuddy and I are too different. The belief that opposites attract is complete crap. Opposites irritate each other. You've been married a long time, right?"

"Twenty-one years. Dated three years before that," she answered.

"The point is, that in reality, people who are very different can't work. Cuddy and I are completely different."

"My husband paints for a living."

"He's an artist?"

"Walls, Gregory."

"Your husband…is a house painter?"

"Yes."

"Owns his own business?"

Manly shook her head. "He works for his brother. His brother is a contractor. He doesn't wear a watch. He's chronically late."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"It infuriates me beyond belief. I also hate that he puts his work boots in different areas around the garage, so I get size-ten paint smudges all over the concrete. He can't leave them on the mat that I put there for his boots. He also doesn't bring home receipts to log in the checkbook and he loves comic books. He also insists on calling them 'graphic novels' and that irritates me even more. What's your point?"

House chewed on his lip while he tilted his head, otherwise without response.

Manly continued, "Of course, from his perspective, he despises that I insist on making the bed every day. I also like decorative pillows on the bed and on the sofa in the formal living room. He hates that we have a _formal_ living room. He also hates that I have no interest in Buddhism."

"Your husband is an unpunctual Buddhist painter?"

"Yes. Are there specific jobs Buddhists are supposed to gravitate to?"

"No. So why? Why are you married?"

"This session isn't about me. I've already said more than I should. You and Lisa are too different, is that your concern? What happened that has you suddenly worried about things with her?" Manly asked in her clinical voice.

"She's looking at jetted tubs and treadmills with walking bars like I have here."

"Ahh," Manly said with understanding, "and you aren't ready for that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't ready for a commitment. That isn't a bad thing. If you aren't ready for more commitment, you need to communicate that to her."

"I'm not afraid of commitment," he scoffed.

"Clearly you are if the thought of her buying those things has you concerned."

"It isn't that."

"Then what is it?"

"Tell me why you're married to your husband."

"We aren't bargaining…this isn't about me. You answer the questions to get better. To learn about yourself, to grow. Not to gain information about me."

"I don't know why she'd bother."

"Perhaps she wants to help you continue your recovery. To give you the tools to make your leg stronger and help you avoid pain."

"Of course she does."

"Then you have an answer."

"I don't know why she'd bother because…we won't last. Not once we're back at work. Then what's she going to do with that crap?"

"Why is that? Why is it that you won't last?"

"Because I make her insane. Because she knows she could find someone who would…"

"Who would what?"

"I don't know," he snapped, his irritation becoming more obvious with each passing question.

"Gregory, we're back here again to that sense of unworthiness that I think sabotages so much for you. Aren't we? Feeling unworthy will keep that voice in your dreams strong, it will sabotage your relationships, it can sabotage your recovery, your career. You are worthy of a job. You are worthy of those people who want to take measures to alleviate your pain. You are worthy of being loved."

"Worthy or not, I don't see how Cuddy and I will ever last. You said that I can take preventative measures…I don't want to take preventative measures to survive if we break up …I want to not break up, but I don't see how to ensure that."

"You want your relationship to last?"

"Umm…yeah."

"Do you believe that she wants to?"

He nodded, only barely.

"Do you believe she wants to or not?" Manly asked roughly.

"Yes. I believe she does. For now."

"This is what we spoke of the other day. Why are you anticipating that it will go wrong?"

"Because it will."

"Why?"

"We're different. At some point it will drive us apart. And she knows she could do better."

"Two very separate issues."

"I was trying to ask about your relationship…and how you deal with differences, but you won't tell me."

"I put the mat down in the garage for my husband's dirty boots. As far as time, I…give him a twenty minute grace period in either direction. I give him time for his 'graphic novels' and I keep my opinions about them to myself, he doesn't need me mocking him for something he loves."

"So you compromise, but even your compromises fail. His boots aren't on the mat…his hobbies are still irritating…"

"Yes."

"So what good does compromise do? You can talk to each other about how annoying those things are until you're blue in the face, but the talking doesn't change anything."

"The talking, Gregory, is an indicator that the person cares enough to hear your concerns and understand who you are. The talking alone _solves _nothing. It requires follow through. Talking leads you to places where solutions can be found, and when they can't…the talking provides a mechanism to know what the other person is thinking. When Dave is irritated I want to know why. Is he upset that I made the bed right before he wants to go take a nap or is it something bigger like he's dissatisfied with married life."

House squinted subtly, "Irritation is irritation."

Manly stared with some confusion, "If all disagreements are equal, doesn't that leave you with a sense of horrible fragility about your relationship?"

"They are fragile. Relationships are fleeting."

"Is love?"

"What?"

"Is love fleeting?"

House shook his head, subtly, "For me, no. For others…maybe."

"Do you love her?"

He bobbed his head, "Of course."

"Does she love you?"

"I think so. For now."

"You are convinced that something's going to change when you're home?"

"Because it will."

"But you aren't afraid of commitment…but her shopping for items to help you upsets you? What else did you discuss during the conversation that led to this?"

"Going home. Work. Co-workers. The Board."

"All things related to real life."

"Yes."

"What about the Board?"

"I want a new department created…I have traditionally had a few conflicts with the Board and she has often…smoothed them over."

"Do you think she'll have to do this again? Do you think she'll need to smooth things over?"

"Probably."

"You're afraid work will drive you apart?"

"Probably."

"You could look for other employment."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because…she puts up with stuff. She makes sure I can do what I do. She's employed me a lot longer than anyone else. She's kept me from being fired on multiple occasions, has…testified on my behalf, has lawyers who are already familiar with me. I have an interesting habit of being…unhirable."

"Things have changed."

"I was that way _long_ before my leg. Before Vicodin."

"Perhaps a new supervisor in your hospital? She could still be there, but less directly," Manly suggested.

"She can try. No one will take me."

"If that is the case, if there are no other options, you need to find ways to make things work."

"And we just established that compromise doesn't work."

"Compromise solves some things. Compromise can help you pick restaurants, decide where to live, help you choose what things you do together as a couple. You can't compromise who you are. You have to find ways to accept the things in each other that you cannot change. Communication can help with that. Good communication is one of these preventative measures we were talking about."

House sighed, leaning his face against his fist. "I didn't say anything to her about what was bothering me because it was going to lead to an argument. Sometimes it's better to not say anything."

"Depends on the circumstance. She may have taken your reaction to mean that you are afraid of commitment or, if not afraid of commitment, that you do not wish for a commitment with her."

"That's not it."

"But you didn't tell her that," Manly continued.

"No."

"You should tell her that, because it is possible that she thinks you don't want a commitment with her. And she will pull back to avoid making you feel suffocated. How will you react to her pulling back if you don't understand the reason why?"

He shrugged, shaking his head, trying to avoid answering until he finally said, "As her…already realizing we're done."

"Did you talk about anything else last night?"

"I need to call Wilson. He's worried."

"Why haven't you called him? He's a friend? Coworker?"

"He's both. He's worried and he'll ask questions. Talking to him is back to reality."

"What else?"

"He told Cuddy there's a wedding we're invited to. Wanted to remind us."

"What wedding?"

"Two people who have worked for me are getting married," he answered quickly.

"That's nice that you're invited."

"More like Cuddy is…and they think she might bring me along."

"You don't want to go?"

"Weddings aren't really my thing."

"Would you go, if Lisa wanted you to?"

"Sure. But she doesn't want me to," he answered definitively.

"She said that?"

"No."

"Then why did she bring the wedding up?"

"I don't know. If we go, it means we will…become a known 'we.' There's no more privacy after that."

"You're afraid she doesn't want people to know," Manly questioned.

"Yea."

"And you didn't tell her this?"

"No."

"How's your relationship with the two former employees?"

"He's…Chase gets irritated but he likes me. Or at least he liked working for me. She…used to have a thing for _me_."

"You had a relationship with her?"

"Relationship? No."

"Fling?"

"No."

"What was it?"

"She saw a very…idealized version of me in some ways…while wanting to fix me."

"Idealized? Not many people see you that way, from what you've said."

"No they don't."

"Do you wish you would have pursued something with her?"

"No. We're good. They're a good fit. Cuddy and I make sense. Cameron and Chase make sense."

"You said that you and Lisa could never work…but then you said you make sense. Which is it?"

House chuckled oddly, "I don't…if I _could_ have a relationship, it would be with Cuddy. But…"

He seemed to be lost for a moment so Manly pushed forward, "But?"

"But it won't work."

"Why not?"

"Because we're so different. And one day, I'll be me-enough. And she'll be done."

"You do know we're talking in circles, don't you? You're on a wheel…spinning to nowhere."

"Which is exactly where I'll end up."

"Maybe you'll end up right where you are."

"In a palliative care facility? And they say I'm not optimistic."

"In a relationship. The one you're in now. You _could _end up there. Why do you love her?"

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, shaking his head and looking upward, "Because she has an amazing body."

"OK, what else?" Manly said, without missing a beat.

"You're OK with that? Maybe that's all. Where's the lecture?"

"There is no lecture. Why else do you love her?"

"But _why_ isn't there a lecture?"

"If it had to do with her body alone, I don't think you would fear losing her. Nice bodies can be found and replaced somewhat easily."

"What if that's just the main reason?"

"I don't believe that is true. But I do think it's _a_ reason, a significant one even. What's wrong with that?"

"You think that's healthy?"

"You're avoiding my questions, Gregory, but I'll indulge you, since you'll loop on this thought next. There is nothing wrong with being powerfully attracted to your partner. It's a good thing. Attraction, sex, intimacy, bonding…all good things. You think I should tell you that attraction doesn't matter?"

He stared, almost grimaced as he thought about what she had said, but he offered no answer.

Manly added, "the physical side of a relationship matters. I personally believe that, at least initially in a relationship, it's just as important as anything else. People grow over time, the importance of physical intimacy can change, for some people it can go away almost entirely, but part of bonding and developing affection is about sex and attraction. I, for one, am thrilled that you find your partner appealing. Even if you want to consider it from a medical standpoint, look at oxytocin and sex…promotes feelings of love, trust, affection, bonding…also known to reduce anxiety and stress and increase overall satisfaction with life. Sex is…good. Particularly early in a relationship and when possible, it's healthy for a long term relationship as well."

"But-" House countered knowingly.

"Stop," Manly interrupted, "I'm only suggesting that it's good as _part _of a relationship. If you have that attraction, that's great. It's just as valid a shared interest as having similar hobbies or enjoying the same music. The individuals who make up a couple don't need to be the same, they need to have some things that bring them together. Now, before you divert again…why else do you love her?"

"I don't know," he said looking away, confounded, "Do I have to have a list of reasons to show you?"

"No. Not for me. For you. For her. How about this…why does _she_ love _you_?"

"I have no idea."

"Come on. Why does she love you?"

"I have no idea."

"Perhaps she shares the same attraction for you as you do for her?"

"I doubt that."

"Do you have to instigate physical intimacy all of the time? Does she seem to resist that aspect of your relationship?"

"No," he answered.

"So likely she's attracted to you."

"Or she likes orgasms. I find a lot of people do."

"She could find orgasms in a lot of places."

"Quality counts for something."

"OK, good. So you feel that's something you offer? You're good in bed?"

"She seems to think so."

"Good. Then that's one reason. Give me another one."

"I don't know," he responded adamantly.

"OK. Give me one other thing that you love about her, Greg," Manly said curtly. "Do you want to take preventative measures? Are you willing to look at this…or not? You tell me you don't want to lose her, so let's see the effort that _shows_ me what you keep _telling_ me. I can't ever guarantee that a relationship is unbreakable, but sometimes you can tell when it is very likely to fail. Couples who are as complicated as you two are…if they do not try, they usually fail. This will take effort."

He looked over, startled by the shortened version of his name and her sternness, and he said, "She…looks out for me. She feels guilty…which is stupid and illogical and completely pointless…and yet…I don't know, some people don't feel guilty for the things they've _actually_ done. She feels guilty for shit she shouldn't even feel guilty for. Makes it seem like…I matter. When she found me before I came here…"

"Tell me," Manly asked softly after he paused for several minutes.

"I don't know why she helped me. But she did. And she took risks she wouldn't normally take to get me here."

"The interesting thing about that statement…the last part…is that it is evidence of something you love about her. It is also evidence that she loves you. Caring for someone, taking risks on their behalf, trying to get them help to that degree… Whether you see why or not, her behavior indicates that she loves you. Ask her. Ask her why she loves you."

"No!"

"No? Why not?" she pushed.

"I'm not asking her that."

"OK. Then tell her why you do. Tell her two reasons. One can be physical. The other one should be something else."

"We'll end up arguing."

"So?"

"So we'll _argue_."

"There's nothing wrong with arguing. It's a form of communication. Try to avoid below the belt hits. Speak the truth, not stuff you use to hurt each other…but your real feelings. From what you've said, you know how to argue. I'm not saying you should stop. Just maybe… moderate a bit."

The hour was up, House could hear the soft beep on the atomic wall clock when the next hour came and he started to stand.

"Our hour is up," Manly stated and House nodded. "Wait a second," Manly added and he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa, "after your exchange with Lisa earlier…you said you were upset because of concerns about the problems that reality might bring to your relationship, the realization that at some point you…or she…would have to acknowledge your relationship to your peers. And you were worried about your relationship crumbling because of your differences."

"Yup."

"Allow me to offer you another perspective. You and your partner discussed some issues involving commitment, at least insofar as her purchasing items for her home for you to use?"

"Yes."

"And you also discussed the wedding of a woman who at one time had feelings for you…who you had, in some way, a relationship or tie to as well?"

"Yea."

"How do you think Lisa may have taken that? Why did I initially think you were unhappy about the items she was shopping for?"

"You…thought that I was feeling trapped. Why?"

Manly nodded slowly, waiting for realization.

"Cuddy wouldn't think that," House answered immediately.

"Are you sure? Did you ask?"

"No," he said, less confidently.

"And what did I ask when you mentioned this woman who is getting married?"

"You asked about a possible relationship with her…and my feelings about her. You think that Cuddy thinks that I'm scared of commitment and have feelings for Cameron?" he asked, shocked.

"It's a very real possibility."

"She wouldn't think that," he said with certainty that seemed to slowly be waning.

"She might think that," Manly added. "Which is why an argument, in that case, would have been better than no discussion at all. If arguing is part of who you both are, it's something you cannot compromise and it can be useful. Use who you are to your advantage instead of trying to suppress it. When's the last time she saw you?"

"I don't know two…two-thirty."

"So she's spent the last twelve hours or so thinking…"

"You think she'd really think…?" he asked wavering.

"I don't know for sure…but it's possible. If I made those assumptions, she may too. You might want to clear that up. Silence can be more powerful than words. Expecting it to end offers you too convenient an excuse to act however you wish. If you resign yourself to an end, you may not even try. So fine, if you must, accept the possibility that it will end, but also allow the possibility that it will _not_ end. And work toward the outcome you most desire."

"Yea," he answered, scratching some unseen piece of dirt from his cane.

"If you are worried about it ending, truly worried…put work into it. Growth is uncomfortable. Make yourself uncomfortable…make each other a little uncomfortable with your honesty, but not with cruelty. Expect the same from her. This is about boundaries and needs and setting them. You should have needs. You should explain what they are. You deserve her affection and she deserves yours. I think you should be willing to tell her something you love about her. And I think you should ask her what she loves about you. I want you to start to feel worthy with someone you trust. Don't scoff at her reasons…they might be little. Little things make up the whole picture of why we have affection for another human being."

House groaned his discontent, his body obviously mirroring the sentiment he felt, and then Manly said, "Our session is over. I'm telling you this…personally."

"OK," he answered, his eyes interestedly searching for answers before she even spoke.

"When I met my husband…he wore suspenders."

"And you went out with him anyway?"

Manly nodded, smiling almost sweetly and leaning forward, "He looked really good in them, it caught my eye. I saw him, waiting in line at a video rental store. And I thought…about how good he looked and then I thought about how odd it was for someone like him to be wearing them. He wasn't trying to look cool, he just had these slender hips and seemed to need them. And he wore those paint spattered boots, which ironically I also found attractive initially. The first night we went out, near the end of the date, he held my hand. I had…never done a day of manual labor in my life. His fingers were huge, rough, he was strong…I found his toughness horribly sexy. I hated to admit that, I always told myself I preferred the company of scholars, men in button down shirts who had two or three degrees, but here I was…falling for this man who was nothing like who I thought I would fall in love with. And I was in love. Love…doesn't always make sense. Sometimes it's about the little things, or the illogical things, but there are always reasons. Even if it's physical attraction and a shared love of romantic black-and-white movies. I'm sure Dave's friends thought he was crazy for going out with such a snob…my friends thought I was crazy for going out with someone who probably helped to build their parents' homes. Of all of the people in our wedding party, we are the only two who haven't split up."

"You think I should buy suspenders before I go over?"

Manly smiled, "Ask her to tell you two things she loves about you. Tell her two things back. It will be uncomfortable. Do it anyway. And tell her the truth about your disagreement this morning before it becomes a huge misunderstanding. Imagine how you would feel if you just spent the last twelve hours wondering if she was in love with someone else."

* * *

When Cuddy emerged from the bathroom after a long, hot shower, she noticed the sitter was gone. House was stretched out on the sofa with Rachel sitting on his stomach. While he offered the baby James' advice regarding core strength, his hands were at the ready on either side in case she tipped too far in any direction. He saw Rachel smiling broadly when Cuddy entered the room.

"What do you think she likes about you?" House asked Rachel as if he was unaware of Cuddy's presence.

The child babbled and gurgled back.

"That _is _true," House answered, "Any insights on exactly what she sees in me?"

Rachel laughed while he uprighted her when she started to tip too far.

"You really aren't going to tell me?" House asked the girl. "Not even a clue?"

The girl squealed loudly in response and House answered, "Oh, that's simple. There's the obvious stuff…she's extremely hot…but everyone knows that. When you really need her, she's there. Even if you're crazy and sick…like seriously messed up. She's all into rules but she breaks them when it's really important. I also recently discovered that she's very good on the drums. Don't let this get back to her," he whispered loudly, "but I have these…feelings for her. I don't hesitate once I have what I want…I mean, she'd have to be smoking some crazy stuff to think that I could possibly be in love with another woman. Don't you think?" House looked directly at Cuddy, who was rounding the sofa, and he said to Rachel while staring into Cuddy, "What I want…is the woman I have." House looked back at Rachel, preventing her from tipping backwards and he added, "Well, I want her…and this really big tub with room for two that has twelve adjustable jets."


	16. Driver's Seat

_A/N-Thank you to all who read and reviewed the last chapter of this story: housebound, BabalooBlue, ammeboss, IHeartHouseCuddy, JafryD, Guest, OldSFfan, JLCH, freeasabird14, Reader, Little Greg, Boo's House, Abby, HuddyGirl, jaybe61, BJAllen815, Alex, ikissedtheLaurie, lenasti16, LoveMyHouse, JM, chebelle, Suzieqlondon, KiwiClare and Mon Fogel._

* * *

-Driver's Seat-

Cuddy sat on the coffee table in front of House and Rachel, pushing some wrinkled papers to the side. She threw out the printouts of jetted tubs and treadmills when she got out of bed earlier that day, balling them up and dropping them in the trash after her argument with House. It was clear that he retrieved the papers from the garbage.

His suggestion hung in the air, his announcement to Rachel that he had feelings for Cuddy and his acceptance of her offer to buy a jetted tub. He didn't want to waste time or let her perceive disinterest from him for any longer. "It's OK, House," she said, doing her best to sound unworried, "things were going really well and I took it a little too far. You should have just let me know, I don't think that's too much to ask. Next time you're unhappy with something between us, tell me."

"That's not it," he said, sitting up immediately, pulling Rachel against his chest.

"Just wait," Cuddy offered, her voice soothing, but wounded, "I'm going to give you some space to get acclimated once we get home, and then you can reevaluate how you feel. I got caught up in how well things were going and I-"

"No," he interrupted, trying to keep his voice even, "I won't let it go like that. That's not what I want."

"I asked you to tell me what you thought…and you disappeared. I'm pushing too hard, and you need some space. I'm _not_…breaking up with you. We're fine just holding steady for a while."

"I don't want more space. I want less space. Much less space. I wasn't gone for the reason you think I was gone."

"There were plenty of options," she conceded sadly.

"So why did you stay here? Why didn't you pack up and go home?"

"Because I hoped you would come back."

Rachel's happiness began to fade slightly into curiosity as she looked between the adults. House looked down at his shirt when he felt her tiny hand grab onto his tee shirt collar and hold on. Her attempt at possession made his chest ache. "I did come back," he returned, maintaining the calmness in the air. "Can I explain now?"

"If you feel like it."

"I feel like it. I don't want this to go away. I don't need space. I'm not worried about losing my space I'm worried about losing you. You don't really want to go to Chase and Cameron's wedding or back to work with me, starring as your boyfriend."

"I don't?"

"Of course not."

"I haven't taken a date that I really like to a wedding in longer than I can remember. So I want to go. I figured we wouldn't because you would feel all eyes were on you and it would make you uncomfortable. Plus you don't like weddings. I also…don't know if there's something unresolved with you and Cameron."

"There isn't. We were talking about going back and…I don't know how we can work once we're back. I need you, I told you that. If I lose you…I'm not repeating myself, I already told you. I already said that. You know how I feel."

"Which is why I guess I was hurt. You said that stuff, and I thought it was safe to imply that you were going to be in my home…in my life, and then you ran off. No note. You could have been anywhere."

"I went to PT. Wandered around. Then I went to lunch. Then I went to see Manly. That's it."

Cuddy nodded, he could see the worry and the thought behind her eyes.

He moved over on the sofa, making space, "I'm trying here, Cuddy. I disappeared, but I went to the right places and then I came back. I _am_ trying. Could you come here…so I can have less space? Don't walk away over…this. This is nothing!" He sounded almost panicked, clearly concerned.

She smiled but reached for Rachel. The one hand he had wrapped around the girl's side to hold her tightened just the slightest, because Cuddy taking Rachel away felt symbolically like so much more than just taking the child from his arms. House's head tilted and she thought she saw his eyes growing red. He turned his head toward the child and looked down while he watched her fist let go of his shirt collar and reach for Cuddy, a fact that increased the worried ache that he was carrying with him. It felt like he had been given access to something, he was trusted with one of Cuddy's most treasured things, and he did not want to witness the revocation of that trust. During moments like these, the vibrant reality that surrounded a drug-free consciousness stabbed horribly.

Cuddy touched his face with her fingers before taking the child, "I just want to hold my daughter for a minute. I already said I'm not breaking up with you. Stop thinking every move means it's the end."

His eyes lifted to hers, filled with longing, worry and sadness, "You too. I was gone a few hours and you think I'm off with another woman. I'm not the only one who's worried."

Her jaw tightened as her eyes closed, and she nodded her head, "I'll try. Show me…that it's not the end."

"You too. I won't end this. Ever. You need to realize that. If it ends, it's because you're ending it. I am not afraid of having more with you…I'm afraid of having none."

She opened her eyes and nodded, strangely he thought she realized this was true. "Can I have Rachel?"

He sat back, allowing Cuddy to take the girl, at that point still somewhat certain that Cuddy would be leaving the room and shutting the door. She sat back on the table, still in front of him, her arm wrapping around the girl. "You know," Cuddy began, looking at Rachel, "this relationship started so suddenly and House really wasn't feeling the best, so we had to take care of the emergency at hand. Now, I know you guys have been hanging out, but I didn't have the chance to properly introduce you. Most people call him House. You can probably call him that, I'm sure he wouldn't mind, or maybe you'll come up with a nickname for him all on your own…he's pretty easygoing about stuff like that, so I'll leave that up to the two of you. Anyway," she cleared her throat, sounding nervous, "Rachel, this is House."

Cuddy held the little girl's hand out, offering a handshake. House looked at Cuddy for a few moments, sort of entertained and a little uncertain. He watched while Rachel leaned forward and grinned widely, her sparse teeth gleaming white and her expression coated with slobber and enthusiasm. House, feeling the child was worthy, reached out and took her hand to shake it. Rachel's hand was easily covered by just his thumb and forefinger while he gently lifted and lowered her hand a few times and responded, "Hey."

Pulling the child back after the official introduction was done, Cuddy turned Rachel so they were facing and said, "I'll be blunt, Rach, I like him. Actually, I have a pretty serious thing for him." Cuddy's eyes lifted to House's for a second before she turned her attention back to her child. "I'm hoping that he wants to be part of our lives. I definitely want him to be part of my life…I think he knows _that_ but…I'd like him to be part of yours too. I can't think of a…," Cuddy swallowed, emotion and a little bit of fear covering her face, "I'd like him to be part of _your_ life because I can't think of a man that I'd rather have around. If he wants to be."

Cuddy sat in hesitant silence, looking at her daughter, finally allowing her gaze to move to House. She was concerned about finding a look of fear or revulsion, but instead she just found searching. He was looking for answers, definitely taken off guard. "You want me to…," he began, and then stared at her again, waiting.

"I want you to do what you've been doing. It's…perfect. Hang out with her, talk to her, maybe help me out a little when I need a nap. You're doing great."

"I'm OK with that."

Rachel babbled, a long string of sounds and inflections.

"What's that Rach? You really don't know?" Cuddy answered the girl's string of noises, "It seems so obvious to me. You are right, he is _incredibly_ handsome," Cuddy watched while House chuckled, "but there's so much more to the man than how he looks. I like a guy who isn't afraid of me. I want them to respect me, but they need to be able to go toe-to-toe. Not a lot of guys can. He's so smart…remember, sweetie, smart is very hot. You know what else is so attractive, a man with passion for what he believes in. There's something about the way he makes me feel…like I'm the only other person in the world, even when we're surrounded by people." She stopped speaking, breathing deeply and then she added lightheartedly, "there are a few other things too, but I think some of them would be best discussed in private."

Just when she thought he would never respond to her words he said, "So we're on? The jetted tub for two?"

"Yea, we're on," she smiled, adding, "but next time, if you need time away…leave a _note_. I don't expect you to be by my side for every waking moment, but you could have left a note. When people care about you, you owe them that courtesy. I was worried, House. For you…for me. I felt like I was sitting here, watching it all slip away and there was nothing I could do to stop it because I wasn't even sure of what was going on."

He pressed his lips tightly together, dropping his gaze, "You know you can't get rid of me. We push and bark and we always end up somewhere…waiting for each other again."

"I don't want to just have you around, I don't want to just be able to look at you. Sometimes, seeing something you can't have that stays just out of reach is worse than not having it at all. I want you like this, outside of work. I want…more."

He stared blankly as he processed, tapping one finger on the coffee table near her leg and then his eyes seemed to come alive with both love and mischief, and he answered simply, "Good."

Rachel started to fuss, rubbing her sleepy face into her mother's shoulder and whining with tiredness, so Cuddy put her down to nap. He thought momentarily about her previous comment that he looked good holding a baby, and could not help but realize that the maternal side of Cuddy looked pretty good on her too. For all of the ways the hospital was her child for so long, she never looked like she looked with her actual child. She was strong and nurturing, still firm but remarkably soft, so much herself but even more whole.

When the baby was sleeping, Cuddy closed the door to Rachel's room, careful to slowly release the knob so the girl wouldn't hear the door latch and wake up. "Come to bed?" she asked, yawning widely.

"Are you that tired?"

"I didn't sleep after we talked last night."

"Why not?" he huffed.

"I wasn't sure where you were going! I didn't know if you went back to your apartment, if you felt so smothered you couldn't breathe, if you went to find Cameron…"

"You think I would just…walk away from this? From you?"

"Last night didn't make a lot of sense to me. I couldn't hear what was going through your head. I thought maybe…," she trailed off, her eyes moving to the bedroom door as she imagined finding rest again.

"You don't have to worry about that. About any woman or anything you say or anything that you do," he announced resolutely, "you can't push me away. I told you, I won't be the one to end this. You don't ever have to think that's the case. I will not go, so stop…acting like it's a possibility."

"You act like it's a possibility," she accused, speaking softly because Rachel was sleeping, but the argument was made nonetheless.

"Because it is."

"What if it isn't?"

"It _is_."

"So what are we going to do? Are we going to spend half of the moments we are together assuming the other one is leaving?"

"The end is always a possibility. It's always a threat. There will always be something that will make you want to go, or something I'll do wrong."

"Great," she answered dryly, dropping her forehead into her hand.

"But…I've decided to fight the inevitable. Just because it's always around the corner doesn't mean I have to take the turn."

"I don't want you to always feel you're on the edge of something horrible."

"Not on the edge…just mindfully watching the horizon."

"How do you do that without feeling doomed?"

"I'm doing things preventatively. I'm sticking with Manly once a week, more if things get bad. I need James. I can visit here once a week to see him, but it wouldn't be the same."

Cuddy smirked, her eyes tightening in a knowing way.

"What is that look?" he asked, deciphering, "I don't know it, but I think I like it."

"You do like it," she confirmed, walking to the far end of the room and gathering another printout, "it's a good look."

He looked over the paper she handed to him and his eyes shot quickly and happily between the paper and her face, "Is this?"

"I was thinking about stuff with James since you first mentioned it. A few possible donors came to mind. This one…has a son who lost limbs recently…a fact that I was not aware of, but I knew that they have a long family history with the military and also a rather affluent background. He wants his son to have a chance."

"This is good," House answered, looking over the paper. "A pretty big chunk of change."

"It's a really good start. There are a few others too."

"And for now? Any jobs for him until this is done?"

"The new department will take time. And we'll still have to talk to the board, but…I can hire him if he wants a job. Just as a physical therapist, nothing more. He'll have to apply, go through all of the usual steps, but I think it will work. Once the department has been officially created, he'll have to apply for that too."

"Thank you. Really. This is-"

"Blatant favoritism?" Cuddy interrupted. "It is _clearly_ blatant favoritism. We're going to have to talk to HR, and we're going to have to be really careful in the future. Which is why you'll need to help pitch this thing. We can make it clear how much it has helped you, and we can discuss how this discovery can help others, and how it will ultimately benefit the hospital. I'll support it, do the paperwork, help you with the board, but I need to take you up on your offer to work with the board on it. You are what is going to sell this. That…and the fact that we have a few donations that cover a really good chunk of the startup costs. That will help."

"So I'm the evidence that James' whole process works and you can fellate the donors?"

"Oh, no," she shook her head, raising a brow, "I'm leaving that to you too. I'm just doing the paperwork."

House chuckled, "Your donations are going to disappear faster than you ever dreamed."

"OK," she answered, stepping closer, her fingers drifting softly from his chest down to his belly, "if that's what you really want…my lips…wrapping around another man's-"

"Shhhh," he demanded, "never. _That_ will never be what I want. I guess we'll have to do this on the level. Have you ever done it that way before?"

Smirking she retorted, "Sliding an insult in for good measure?"

"I don't want to completely destroy my reputation as a misogynist pig."

"Don't worry, no one will ever take that away from you," she answered with a wink. "Now I'm exhausted, can we please go sleep before Rachel wakes up?"

After she checked to make sure Rachel was still asleep in the temporary nursery, he followed Cuddy into their bedroom, wondering how it was possible that she could miss him enough to lose sleep but enjoying the possibility that she really wanted him around. As soon as they were settled, he pulled her closer to him and she warned, "I have to sleep…so no funny stuff."

"Not even a good pun?"

"I'm just trying to make it clear _before_ we start something, that we shouldn't start anything. Because if you start something, I won't say no. Or I will say no, but it'll be too late and we'll have to have sex anyway."

"It's so great that you think _I'm _crazy."

A few moments of peace surrounded him, the bed was warm, soft and conformed to him just enough, Cuddy was cuddling next to him, for something that was just sleep it felt indefinably nice. Of course it also felt nice when her hand slipped into his boxers.

"Why do I have the feeling that you're going to somehow blame me for this?" he teased.

"It's not my fault you're getting turned on," she answered, her smirk evident in her voice.

"Hmm. Not your fault? Wonder whose hand that is then. Not like it matters, just go to sleep," he said, his one hand covering her eyes.

She smacked his arm and tried to slide up onto his torso, but he easily rolled her under him. "If I'm going to take the blame, I'll make it worth my while," he mumbled before he kissed her.

They spent their last full afternoon at Stillwater sleepily making love and then napping for as long as they could before they heard Rachel crying in the next room.

The three of them spent the evening enjoying the relative peace of the grounds. In the morning, House woke to go to his sessions with James and Manly, and when he was finished, Cuddy and Rachel would meet him to begin their drive back home.

* * *

The next morning during PT, House stepped down from the treadmill, less exhausted than he used to be when he first began his walking regimen, but the workout was still challenging. He and James walked to the open area to stretch at the same time. "Going home today," House announced.

"What's Manly think about all of that?" James asked.

"She says I'm ready."

"And are you?"

"Yea," House scoffed.

"Are you sure you know what that means? Are you sure you understand the complications. Manly won't be onsite, I won't be onsite. Will you go back to work?"

"Of course I'm going back to work. I'm still going to drive up to meet with Manly."

"Good for you," James nodded, looking remarkably impressed. "That was smart. I've given you enough exercises to keep you going. We can meet up once or twice a month, if you want, to evaluate your progress and make any necessary changes."

"Not interested."

James looked taken aback, his head dropping slightly at the dismissal. "Alright," he answered, walking over to correct House's form.

"I want you to come back with me."

Laughing loudly, James shook his head, "I don't think I'm ready to be a kept therapist."

"I'm serious. I'm working Cuddy, Cuddy's working the board. She found you a job, for now. You need to leave this place, it's a waste of you. You can start working with pain patients who will actually get a little better. She's going to get you a department. Check the place out this week. We'll show you around, talk to you about the department Cuddy's going to make for you. It's your dream job."

"You have that much sway with Lisa?"

"Yea, of course I do. Just trust me. Come down this week. Don't stay here, this place is going to kill you. You're doing all of this for people who can't get better. You made me better. If you can make me feel better…trust me. Just check it out."

"OK," James nodded, "I'll come look. I'm not promising anything."

"This is what you want, you're gonna love it. Wednesday night?"

"Yea, OK," James answered hesitantly, "can't hurt to look."

* * *

Near the end of House's session with Manly later that day, she commented, contentedly, "So, Gregory, you're leaving us?"

"Looks like."

"Are you going back to your apartment?"

"Staying with Cuddy for a while. My apartment needs some work."

"You're staying there for purely practical reasons?"

"That…and Cuddy will be at Cuddy's."

Manly played with a pen on her desk as she pondered the significance of the admission he made. "And we agreed that we are continuing once or twice a week? More frequently if you need it?"

"I was thinking about that. Cuddy can find you a job at the hospital. Then we could have our regularly scheduled visits and I could do drive-by's."

Manly laughed, more loudly than he had ever heard, and she said, "In a way, that is very flattering. You want to bring me home?"

"In a manner of speaking. You could get out of this small town, Mr. Manly could probably find more friends to seek enlightenment with. I'm guessing there are more Buddhists in the Greater-Trenton area than there are here in nowhere-ville. We could find you a place with two garages…one for your husband's boots and one for your stuff. One day you may credit me with the longevity of your marriage."

House was surprised to see the openly amused look on Manly's face as she spoke, "Yes, I'm sure the credit is somehow yours, Greg. I have some bad news, though. I love it here in _nowhere-ville_. This is my home. This is where I work, where our family is. Dave and I live in the same home we bought just before we were married. I'm not moving and I love my job here."

"You love this job? You love constantly doing grief counseling and holding people's hands while someone dies?"

"I do," she nodded somberly, "I love it."

Doing nothing to mask his disappointment, he answered, "Do you want me to start going to someone else?"

"Not at all. Unless you want to. You're an occasionally infuriating challenge, but a challenge that is very fulfilling for me."

He smiled knowingly, "_You_…like me."

"As a patient, whether or not I like you is irrelevant."

"I can tell, you do like me," he nodded, a bit happily, looking away.

"I used to see patients at home, I have an office there. If you would like, we can hold your sessions there instead. It would reduce your driving time by about twenty minutes each way."

"So _you_ want to take _me_ home?" he said, puffing his chest.

She smirked fleetingly, "Perhaps I want to facilitate your treatment because I think it's important."

"Are you sure you trust me with that? You are going to give me your home address?" he asked sincerely.

"Up until the last week or so, there was no way. You've come to respect my boundaries…well…sort of. You try. It's my home, I hope you'll respect those boundaries even more than you do here."

He nodded, subtly, Manly's offer, like his admission that he wanted to stay at Cuddy's because he wanted to be around her, was a larger admission than what it appeared to be on the surface.

"You know the restraining order for unannounced visits still applies at home, right, Gregory?" she added lightheartedly, and then became quite serious. "I'll be honest, this is a risky time for you because I think you're starting to feel better, and the temptation to think that you're 'all-better' is probably prevalent. There's a lot of work to do here. I think you've reached the point where you can really start to deal with things. You're more open, you're making efforts, cracking the surface, but…there's a lot more to do or you'll slide back. Therapy is a good counter-balance to that voice you hear. It's like a reality touchstone or something to bring some balance to that negativity. I hope…I hope you feel that it has helped. I really hope that you continue. Gains are hard to make…and easy to lose."

"Trust me…I'm not going back there. I can't."

"It's time for you to do this. You don't need me next to you every step of the way, you just need to know how to check in so you can stay focused, and know how to find me when you need me. You have the tools, just don't forget to hang onto your lifelines. They will be there when things get tough. It's a risky time, but it's also a chance to get a start fresh. I hope you take advantage of it."

"Yea," he answered distantly.

She held out a piece of paper, "I'm going to trust you again. I don't like unannounced visits, ever, but this is my cell number. If you're ever in trouble, if your other resources are exhausted and you need to talk to me before your next session…call me. I'd rather you call than relapse…or worse. Have a little faith in yourself, Greg. It's not misplaced."

House stood to take the paper and she held out her hand. He looked down at it and thought for only a moment before he accepted her handshake. "You've helped me," he admitted.

"Good," she answered, "I'll see you in a few days. The address is on the paper too. Show up for your appointment."

He walked out of Stillwater and found Cuddy a few feet away from the door. She and Rachel were leaning against the car, waiting. Rachel had a wide brimmed sun hat shielding her face from the light, and Cuddy looked like spring embodied, waiting patiently for a start at something new. House held out his hand for the keys, preparing himself for a rejection, and he was surprised when Cuddy handed them to him, "Why not," she answered.

House sat in the car, running his hands along the hot, smooth material covering the steering wheel when he looked at Cuddy, smirked with what looked like a sense of sheer victory, and began the drive back home.


	17. Trouble

_A/N-Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed since the last post: IHeartHouseCuddy, lenasti16, BabalooBlue, JLCH, housebound, Bladesmum, JM, freeasabird14, ally2351, jkarr, jaybe61, ikissedtheLaurie, chebelle, KiwiClare, OldSFfan, vicpei1, Reader, LapizSilkwood, Abby, grouchysnarky, dmarchl21, Alex, Bakerstreet Blues, HuddyGirl, linda12344, BJAllen815 and Mon Fogel._

_Thanks so much for your patience, I know my updating is slower than it used to be. Have wonderful weekends!_

* * *

-Trouble-

When they woke the next day, House went for a walk since the treadmill did not arrive yet. Cuddy's place was nice and comfortable, but he was ready to visit his apartment. Cuddy agreed to come while he emptied his stashed bottles of Vicodin and found some clothes for work. He was feeling good, but there was no point in tempting fate. Even the drive to his home felt strange as he became reacquainted with sights that had been familiar for years but were absent while he went away to find his sanity.

The air in his apartment was stale, and although he and Cuddy had cleaned up most of the mess before they left, there were still misplaced blankets on the bed, the mugs they used for coffee were in the sink, everything in his apartment was frozen in time, frozen almost at the moment of his greatest desperation. As truly as he could smell the staleness of the air, he could sense the pain and fear from his final moments there. He could still imagine his hallucination standing by the door or leering over Cuddy, questioning everything that House thought he might want. Part of him felt it would have been the most natural thing in the world to reach into his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin as he went through the door. Cuddy followed him through the apartment, gathering the Vicodin bottles that he gave her as they walked through each room. The more bottles he handed to her, the more she realized how severe his situation had been.

It was difficult to turn the bottles over to Cuddy. He did not have the urge to take them, but he remembered the panic for years at the thought of running out, and he was used to protecting and adding to his stash, not turning it over willingly. There was also a sense of discomfiture at her seeing something so private. She had seen him falling apart, hallucinating, at the moment right before detox when he barely felt that he could continue, and then she was seeing the extent to which he had backup provisions.

Cuddy was remarkably calm about the entire exchange, gathering the pill bottles in a large bag without making any comment. He wondered if she had spoken to James about something like this, because he expected a much different reaction from her. When they were finished, his own concern shone through and he asked, "Are you going to make some sort of comment?"

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," she answered immediately.

"I'm not embarrassed."

"Well, then my only other comment would be…I'm glad you survived long enough to get treated…is there something else you want to hear? I saw the stash you prepared just to last you the weekend until we went for treatment. I can't say that I'm all that surprised by what's here. If you started stashing all of these away now, I'd be more concerned." She began to tie the bag shut and then looked up, "Is there anything else?"

He shook his head no and watched while she took the bag of pills away and locked it in her trunk. Rachel was on a blanket on the floor and started whining a bit unhappily, looking for attention, so he approached her and did what he had become accustomed to doing, he picked her up. She was happier instantly. House was still gathering things, looking through a few DVDs and CDs for ones he may want over the next few days.

He heard the door behind him close and said into the air without turning back toward the door, "You should get cable. It isn't like the kid is going to be sneaking downstairs and watching soft-core porn at three am. Besides, TV is educational. They have cartoons with nonthreatening fuzzy animals that teach kids what they need to know before they start preschool…ABC's, counting…all about STDs. Nothing better than a singing monkey teaching you how to avoid gonorrhea."

When Cuddy did not answer him, he turned, and there, standing at the door with dinner and quite possibly the most surprised look House had ever seen, was Wilson.

"Hey Wilson," House commented before he went back to looking through his things. He mumbled softly to Rachel, "I guess you already know Wilson, huh? But you know the boring, mommy-ass-kissing version of him. Trust me, he's more fun around me." Wilson still didn't answer, so House turned back and jabbed, "You're speechless with joy because you missed me so much?"

Shaking his head, Wilson tried to fathom what he was seeing. House was standing in his living room, exactly as Wilson had seen him many times before, but _House_ was holding Rachel. The strangest part of it wasn't even that House was holding a child, and he certainly wasn't being overly attentive or affectionate with the girl, but it was the very natural way he was doing it. House was holding Rachel like it was something that he did all of the time. "That's…a baby," Wilson finally said as he approached, "Cuddy's baby?"

"I hope so or she's going to be kinda miffed when she gets back and wants her actual child."

"Why are you holding her?"

"Because she didn't want to be on the floor. Why are you so annoying?"

"She doesn't even seem strange with you."

"Why would she be?"

"She and I…I don't usually hold her."

"She's scared you're just biding your time until her eighteenth birthday…when you intend to make her the tenth Mrs. Wilson."

"I can't believe she likes you," Wilson stated, amazed.

"You're the one she needs to watch out for."

"You know what I mean. And you…you like her?"

"What's not to like? She doesn't ask me hundreds of questions about feelings or try to tell me what I should do…wait a minute," House dramatically pondered the situation and then said, convinced, "Sorry, Wilson, the best friend position has been given to someone else."

"You look great…you really, really look great," Wilson ignored, stepping back and looking at House.

"Hey Wilson," Cuddy said from the door, walking immediately to him for a hug.

"God, you…you look great too."

"I'll try not to be insulted by your surprise," she replied.

"No, it's not surprise, it's just. I'm shocked. You guys really didn't kill each other."

"'Shocked' is sometimes considered a synonym for 'surprised,'" Cuddy retorted, before she grabbed the diaper bag, took Rachel and retreated into House's bedroom.

"How do you feel?" Wilson asked.

"Fine. Good."

"Your leg?"

"Still hurts, but it's manageable. No triathlons in my future but things are under control."

"And you and…Cuddy?"

"Yes."

"Is that…?"

"Hot, wild and kinky? Of course it is."

"Is that a _relationship_?"

"I gave her a promise ring ever since we started going steady," House sarcastically replied. "Look, it's just me and Cuddy but we're doing things outside of work. Things that are fun and naked. Things that we do a lot, and I hope to continue doing."

"And you're also hanging out with her daughter. You can't say it's just sex when you're doing things like that. That's _relationship_ stuff."

"On occasion. This conversation is increasingly reminding me of why Rachel is the top contender for new best friend."

"You guys want this. You've been side-stepping each other forever, so this is great. I'm just trying to figure out if this is a boss-employee thing or a…romantic thing."

"It's both, she's doing a great job of obeying my every command."

"I'm sure. I'm sure that's exactly what she's doing. What happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we go back to work. Everyone can stare at us and put bets on which one of us really wields the riding crop."

"Thanks, thanks for that. That's…very mature."

"If you're going to ask questions, be prepared for the answers."

"Everyone already knows she's in control," Wilson answered offhandedly, "and anyway-"

"Who knows that?" House interrupted. "No one _knows _that."

"I do. I know that."

"Oh fine, because she's my boss at work and I listen _so _well there, or are you suggesting she really is some sort of crazed man-breaker? I'm sure she'd love to hear this."

"She has power because you are so much more in love with her than you want anyone to think. That's why you've avoided her for so long. You're scared of her," Wilson whispered his answer so Cuddy wouldn't hear and then walked away to survey the rest of the apartment.

"Oh yes, _terrified_."

"You are. You _are _terrified because she matters to you. You've waited for this for a long time."

"I know that."

"And tonight, you're going to sleep next to her, and tomorrow you're going to have to answer to her."

"I only have to answer to her at work. Personally, she helped me get to where I needed to be, while I was there, I put a lot into my leg and into…me. I've worked hard. We'll figure work out. We're big boys and girls."

Cuddy came into the room again and it was then that Wilson saw a difference between them, something small but so very significant. Cuddy, when she entered the room, put her hand on House's arm as she walked past and the man didn't flinch or pull away or even need to think about the significance of the touch, he just allowed it. It was as natural and easy as he held Rachel while he stood in the living room and looked for movies. "Wilson's spreading doom and gloom about us returning to work," House told Cuddy.

"I am not," Wilson replied, "I'm just suggesting that you should be prepared. Either things are exactly the same…and you guys are in a lot of trouble, or things are different and you're going to have to figure out how to work together now…so again, possibly _still_ in a lot of trouble."

Later, after Wilson left, they returned to Cuddy's. That night after she put Rachel to bed, Cuddy found House staring at a movie playing on the TV without really watching it. She turned it off, listening to his weak protest, and then she said calmly, "We survived detox, hallucinations and episodes of pain. The bond between us survived your infarction, my childlessness, years of working together and a lot of anger. We made it through Amber and Kutner's deaths, some of our own doubt and fear, and we are here. It probably won't even be that different."

She slipped next to him, her body following the shape of his as she settled closer. "Right," he answered, "nothing has really changed at work."

"No, it hasn't."

"And yet," he said, staring at the ceiling, "everything has changed."

"Yea. That too."

* * *

It was already different in the morning, and also remarkably the same. With surprising ease Cuddy slipped back into her usual routine of exercise and preparation, almost like she had never left, preparing herself and Rachel for the day as efficiently as possible. House slept as late as he could but brought clothes to exercise in while at work. After turning Rachel over to the nanny, House and Cuddy went to work together.

Cuddy was so inundated with backed up work that she was drowning in paper before she even crossed the threshold. House went first to the cafeteria and in a booth near the back corner sat Chase and Cameron. They were startled when House slid into the booth next to Cameron. "My team is short by one," House stated without any other greeting.

"Umm…hi," Cameron said, surveying the changes in House.

"Looking for replacements."

"We heard you were coming back," Chase answered.

"I am back. I am still also one short on my team. But, I think I can pull some strings with Cuddy. Taub and Thirteen can't do it on their own."

"You forgot Foreman. You still have Foreman," Chase reminded.

"But is he really all that helpful?"

"House," Cameron interjected loudly, "can we talk about this first. You…you look good. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," House answered dismissively, "except for the fact that I am _short on team members_. I want the two of you back."

Cameron and Chase exchanged glances. "I don't know, House," Cameron said. "Our wedding is coming up."

"I'm not asking you work through your honeymoon. I'm asking you to work before and after it."

"I'll consider it," Chase answered.

"We can _talk _about it," Cameron added.

"Talking…great," House said, taking an untouched muffin from Chase's plate, "how about, today you come work with me so you can remember the joy of it all. Do a little research. That way you can make an informed decision."

"I have two surgeries scheduled today," Chase answered.

"In between, it will give you something to do. And what about you?" House asked Cameron. "Still in the ER?"

"Yea," she nodded.

"Well, there's nothing much going on in there, is there? Are you coming?"

"She can't leave her shift uncovered," Chase answered.

"If I can find someone to cover, I'll bet there," Cameron answered decisively.

"What about talking about it?" Chase asked her.

"You're practically there already," she replied, "I'll check it out for a few days. It would be fun for us to work together."

"You and I?" Chased countered, "or all three of us."

"All of us," she said with a shrug.

House stood, announcing, "Great, I have a feeling I'll see both of you by the end of the day."

"House," Cameron said, catching up with him before he could leave, "you really do look good. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Didn't I say that already?"

"I'm glad. I hope I'll be seeing you later today."

Cuddy walked into the cafeteria, getting into line immediately for coffee, but nodding at House and Cameron. Cameron watched the momentary exchange, "Is it true? Are you and Cuddy…?"

She braced for the deflection, for him to quickly and sarcastically finish the sentence or redirect or answer with something terse, and he just pressed his lips tightly shut and then spoke, "I'll see you as soon as you can get out of the ER."

He tried to ignore the feeling that everyone was watching him, but it was obvious that they were. He could feel in certain spots around the hospital the memory of his insanity. He was tired of people asking him the same questions, people who wanted to know if he was drug-free or if he and Cuddy were more than just professional acquaintances. Then there were those who insisted on telling him that he looked better, as if he needed to be told that he wasn't the train wreck who left the hospital weeks earlier. A few people seemed to approach him as if he was going to be much kinder since he was off of Vicodin, and that irritated him. After only an hour, he decided the best thing to do was find a case and get back to what he knew. If people were going to gawk and question at least he could have something interesting to think about while they were doing it, and he knew eventually he'd forget their eyes were on him. Back in his conference room, he answered or avoided questions from Taub, Thirteen and Foreman until Cameron and Chase entered the room.

"I worked out the schedule," Chase said.

"Are you…bringing both of them back on the team? Together?" Foreman asked, "Did Cuddy approve this?"

"By approve you mean…?" House questioned.

"I _mean_ did Cuddy say it was alright for them to both come back on the team?"

"Approve is a tricky word. Lots of nuance hidden in that word."

"No there isn't," Foreman answered. "Did Cuddy tell you they could both work here or didn't she?"

House limped from the conference room to his office, gathering the pile of folders that was on his desk and returning to the conference room. He dropped the folders on the table and said, "Meet me in 607. Bring the files. Time to pick a case."

"607?" Thirteen asked, "Why are we going there?"

House stopped at the door, looking back in, "To pick a case."

* * *

When the team arrived at the appropriate location, House was already dressed to exercise and on the treadmill. They argued the merits of each case while he walked. When he was done with his usual exercise routine, the whole team followed him to the locker room, and they continued to debate the merits of the cases before them. House shouted his opinions from the shower at the team waiting for him. They had just settled on a case after tossing many to the side, and the door to the locker room slapped open. They could hear Cuddy yelling before they could see her, "You can_not_ make staffing changes in this hospital without my prior approval, House."

She looked around at the team leaning against lockers and sitting on benches, staring toward the door to the shower. "Dr. Chase, you told your supervisor you were needed on House's team…that it was an emergency."

"Well," Chase floundered.

"Your emergency was waiting for House to shower?"

"No. We're selecting a case."

"So the emergency was a case you don't even have yet. Great. At least Cameron had the courtesy to discuss a switch in schedule and staffing with me."

"We aren't even back half a day and you're kissing Cuddy's ass?" House asked Cameron as he came out of the shower, his head still soaking wet, wearing only his jeans.

"Interesting," Taub commented, "coming from the man who's probably _literally_ kissing Cuddy's ass. Or at least some parts of her."

Cuddy and House both shot angry glances at Taub, who grimaced his surrender. Cuddy walked right up to House, completely ignoring the dampness of his circumstance. "Allow me to make this perfectly clear, House. I make staffing changes in this hospital. Not Chase or Cameron or Taub. Me. If you need additional staff members, you check with me. Your team seems to magically be swelling from three to four and now five. Five is too many. If you want my staff to move between departments, you _ask_ me. And once you've selected a case, make no mistake, every single procedure, test or treatment that can be in the slightest way construed as risky…gets approved by me."

House was standing tall, looking down at her, his head slightly tilted before he looked at the team behind Cuddy.

"Am I clear?" she pressed.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're sort of pale but more of a light flesh tone than clear."

"House, do you understand what I'm saying or not?"

He nodded.

"Great," Cuddy answered, "any changes in your health or extenuating personal circumstances outside of this hospital do not provide you with carte blanche to do whatever you want to do."

"Fine," he answered, turning to get his shirt. "Anything else, _boss_?"

"Your team?"

"What about them?"

"You have too many. I'll do four. Not five."

"So does that mean you'll OK staff changes for the ER and Surgical team? Can Chase and Cameron come to play?"

"Cameron has already requested the move, and suggested a good replacement. Chase…you can have him for now." Cuddy turned to Chase, "You're still on call for surgical emergencies. We'll see about having you moved."

"So I can have all of them?" House asked.

"No," Cuddy answered, "four. Who are you getting rid of? And not Foreman."

"Are you really going to make me put Taub down?"

"You pick who."

"I need all of them."

"Four."

"But for now, Cameron and Chase will be gone for their romantic getaway for two, and until then Chase might get called into surgery. So I need extras."

"Four."

"Cuddy," House whined.

"Four."

"I'll give you five extra clinic hours a week worked by my team members if I can keep them all."

"Twenty-five," she said after thinking.

"Ten," he countered.

"Twenty."

"Fifteen…and I'll give you one extra question-free case on top of the two I promised you previously."

"What's a question free case?" Foreman asked.

"A case where we don't ask the patient any questions or run any tests. We just randomly treat," House answered with overt sarcasm before he turned back to Cuddy. "Fifteen clinic hours performed by my team and I'll owe you one more question-free case."

"Agreed," she answered before she began to leave. She stopped near the door and turned back, "I'm telling you right now. I will watch this case like a hawk. You shook up two very important departments at this hospital, and I had one very angry department head storming my office over Chase before lunchtime on your first day back. The old rules still apply. I run this hospital."

House nodded once and she was out the door as he sighed contentedly, "Good to be back. Go call this guy, tell him he's the lucky winner of one me-provided diagnosis." The team stared, and he shouted, "Now! Go get him here and once he's here, start testing. Rule out the 'osis-es and then we'll go from there."

As House finished dressing he smirked, some familiar things did feel remarkably good.


	18. Departures

_A/N-Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: JLCH, IHeartHouseCuddy, Guest, ammeboss, Boo's House, jaybe61, BabalooBlue, JM, freeasabird14, LapizSilkwood, linda12344, Huddyphoric, jkarr, ikissedtheLaurie, lenasti16, OldSFfan, Abby, Suzieqlondon, Reader, HuddyGirl, Alex, chebelle, Mon Fogel, dmarchl21 and Celeste._

_OK, here it is. I have the next chapter about half written, so I hope to get it posted Monday/Tuesday._

* * *

_-Departures-_

During the next couple of days at the hospital, House purposefully made sure his disagreements with Cuddy were noticed by everyone. He bickered with her in the lobby, in the cafeteria and limping along the corridor outside of his office. She denied every request that she would have denied before, allowed the requests that she felt he adequately made a case for, made sure he showed up in the clinic when scheduled and also made sure his team worked their extra hours as per their agreement. It only took a few days for many of the questions to stop. All of the people who thought House had lost his edge or Cuddy had gone soft or that the two of them would allow their relationship to change the things that made them good at their jobs were suddenly silent.

He solved his case when a flash of brilliance struck him while Rachel was trying, unsuccessfully, to shove peas in her mouth. That night, while the three of them sat at the table, House's epiphany settled upon him, and in the next moment, without a word, he was on his way. Cuddy looked at the door as it shut, scooped some peas on a spoon and placed it back on the edge of the plate for the little girl to try to use. "You'll get used to it. We just have to make sure he knows what to do if he's the only one with you."

Wednesday morning, James arrived at the hospital. House and Cuddy had been back at work for a few days and there were board meetings and discussions and, if he could convince James, it looked like PPTH was ready to embark on yet another specialty. Once word got around, additional donors came forward with offers. If anything, the offers were more than what Cuddy had anticipated.

House, for all of his taunting and teasing about her dealings with donors, was surprised sometimes to see her in action. Even at night, with her hair casually pulled back from her face as she paced in bare feet, she would talk on the phone with potential donors with all of the authority and professionalism that he had observed for years. She was a saleswoman, negotiator and sharp business mind all at once. Those donors suddenly seemed more important to him.

When James walked through the door to the hospital, House was waiting for him. James toured the hospital, including House's 'best places to nap,' met the team and had breakfast with Wilson. House introduced Wilson as "the wife" and James as "the mistress" and asked them to try to get along because there "is plenty of me to go around."

James met the board, and his relaxed personality seemed even more evident when he sat between House and Cuddy. As a military man himself, he seemed at ease with the principal donor and his family, and it was clear that James could be a powerful motivator for some of the people who really needed the hope of a better life.

Cuddy left with the board and the donor after the meeting, and only James and House remained, sitting at the table in the boardroom. House was feeling confident in everything that had occurred, he felt certain that James would take the position, that things were falling into place, and James calmly said, "I think this is a mistake. I'm happy to help you get this whole thing started, and, once it's up and running, you should turn over control of the department to someone else."

"Then what's the point in creating the department?" House countered with shock and irritation. "This whole thing…is for you. This whole department is being put here for you to run."

"The _point _is to help people get better. Isn't it?"

"No. _You_ need to run this. You're scared of stepping out of that…neat, safe, little hiding place up there. You know all of your patients are going to die, their outcome is decided no matter what you do. You don't belong there."

"I'm not scared," James said calmly, "this just isn't the right place for me."

"Why not?"

"The soldiers…the patients need someone they can trust."

"I trusted you. You might not know what that means…but it means something to me."

"We can't hide who we are in the end. I'm not the right person for this job."

"Why not? You're…dancing around some sort of confidence issue here?"

"It's not that."

"Quit being such a coward," House griped. "You want to help people, then do it. If you don't, go back to your death hospital and rub people's backs until they die."

"I'm not a coward," James practically yelled with a much more open display of emotion than normal.

"This is about what happened to you. What messed up your leg and back?" House asked more softly. "You've done a lot to avoid telling me about that. You've deflected and sidestepped."

The younger man looked consumed with sadness for a moment and said, "These people, wounded vets, need someone they can trust to lead them. When people put their trust in you…when they stop thinking and questioning and blindly go wherever you want them to go, that's a tremendous responsibility. They believe that you will get them through. When that trust is broken…you can't earn it back."

"What happened? You didn't break these people's trust. You've probably never even met them."

James waited pensively, almost like he might be able to outlast House's interest in the subject, but began softly, "I was in the desert for two months, that's it. I was stationed stateside at first, made connections, but I was needed elsewhere. Back then, I was excited to get closer to where the action was, I wanted to be part of something. I was out on patrols, happy to go. I was driving. I saw something along the edge of the road and reacted. I veered onto this side road. Roadside bomb, I went right into their trap. Every other man in that truck died. They thought I was dead, I'm sure, because they went over the truck and our bodies…the parts of them they could find…for valuables. When I closed my eyes, I thought I was dead. I was miserable when I woke up. Got sent home, had a good physical therapist and great doctors who got me up and walking again. My girlfriend stood by me while I was gone, and when I came back. I met widows and the children left fatherless by my mistake. None of them even seemed to think I was responsible."

"Because you weren't."

"I was. I made that choice. I faced those hurt by my decision. You know what's worse than having the widows of those you killed hate you?"

"Surviving yourself?" House guessed.

"Worse than that even. Being completely forgiven. I could have accepted their anger, their blame…none of them blamed me. The guy who sat right behind me, Miller, his wife hugged me. The oldest one of our group, Reyes, his three kids welcomed me home. I wanted to be hated. I could have dealt with that. Those people wanted me to succeed. My girlfriend, my father, these victims of my choice, my doctors and physical therapist, put all of their faith in me. They believed I was here for a reason. They forgave me. And I repaid them. I repaid them by becoming a drug addict. I drove a wedge in my father's marriage when he stood by me. My girlfriend, who waited while I was deployed and stood by me when I was in rehab without a single complaint…she, eventually, had to leave. I broke her heart. I cost myself an amazing job that I loved. All of those widows and their kids…I was the survivor and I let all of them down. They forgave me for nothing. You can start this department, and some of those very nice donors will look into what happened. These soldiers who come home need someone who they can trust. They're already hurt. They're already wounded. How can I convince them to trust me when I'm responsible for the death of eight people…I'm the wrong choice."

"It's not your _fault_."

"It is."

"Did you build the bomb? Did you plant it? Did you knowingly drive over it?"

"Of course not."

"Then it's bullshit. This is not your fault."

"I made the decision. I led them there. I might not have intended for it to happen…but it happened because of my actions. So I _am_ the responsible party."

"Then turn it around and help the people you _can_ help. All of this…some roadside bomb placed by someone who was not you, in a place you did not know about, that killed some people who happened to be there…is the reason why you hide from everything? Why you don't have a girl, or a real job where you can actually do something with your skills? You're letting something you didn't even _do_…paralyze you?"

"If I wasn't the driver…people might still be alive. Reyes' kids would have a father, Miller's wife would have a husband. I tried to overcome all of that. Became a physical therapist, had a good job, and then I tried to destroy the people who cared about me with my addiction. I might be with my girlfriend if my drug use didn't almost destroy her. My father went through his second divorce as a result."

"You helped me."

"You just showed up. I didn't have time to think about it. I'm glad I helped you, really, I am. I need to go back to Stillwater. That's my decision."

"You think that going back there will somehow allow you to atone for a crime that you didn't even commit?"

"We aren't getting anywhere with this conversation."

"All of that wisdom and advice you give, and deep down…you're a coward. You're afraid to live your life. You say all of this great stuff-"

"Like I said," James interrupted, "those who can't do…teach."

"I may carry the cane…but you're the fucking cripple."

James nodded, acquiescing easily to the accusation.

"You want to be like that?" House yelled. "You want to be this half-person? When I was falling apart, Cuddy asked me if what I had was all I wanted from life. She asked if drugs and hookers and falling the fuck apart were all that I wanted. And they weren't. That's not a life."

"I have a good life."

"You barely have a life. I'm still fucked up, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I was."

"Good for you."

"This guilt is irrational."

"But it's mine."

Their argument continued in circles for a while and James finally said, "You're taking this too personally. It is not about you. This discussion is over."

House sat for a moment, his mind cycling through thoughts in search of answers, "Come on, I'll show you around town."

"There's no point. I'm not moving here."

"We'll get something to eat."

"So we're done talking about this?"

"Sure."

James finally nodded, and trustingly got into House's car.

* * *

Manly's home was beautiful, with the look of a log cabin, but clearly a luxury one. When she got home, she saw an unfamiliar car in her driveway, at first approaching cautiously until she recognized the occupants. "What's wrong, Gregory?"

"Nothing," House replied.

"You are two and a half hours early for your appointment."

"I know."

"Why are you sitting in my driveway so early?"

"Because I'm not allowed to go in. You made it very clear, I couldn't come in until my appointment. I'm following the rules. Waiting here."

"Why aren't you both off doing something else?"

"Because it was hard to convince him to come here," House pointed at James, "and I'm concerned that he won't come back if we go somewhere else and he has a chance to escape."

"He didn't convince me," James answered, "he tricked me. I just want to go home."

"He needs to be here," House commented, "he just doesn't know it yet."

"You can't hold him hostage," Manly answered, leaning down farther to get a look at James.

"Not hostage. More like a patient," House explained.

"You can't hold patients either."

"You can hold psych patients. At least for a while."

"Mr. Gaines is a danger to others or himself?"

"I am not," James argued, "he's just irritated that I have thoughts of my own. That I won't be his hospital mistress."

"Pardon?" Manly squeaked.

House immediately looked at James, "That's not true. I think people should have their own thoughts. Just not dumb ones."

Manly listened to the back and forth between the men for a few minutes and then, using a voice that was quiet but carried the authority of a yell, "Go get something to eat. Come back in an hour and a half. I'll see you a little early. James…clearly this is something that is very important to Greg. Perhaps you'll consider coming back, but it's up to you."

"In an hour and a half?" House pushed, "What about now?"

"No," Manly shook her head, "This is your first day up here, and you're already treading on the boundaries. Don't push me. You have two choices, come back in an hour and a half, or at our normal time. What will it be?"

House liked and hated Manly in that moment, in so many moments, but agreed. Dinner was mostly silent, James was frustrated, but for some reason remained. Returning to Manly's, they found the lights on at a lower entrance to her home, just off the driveway. The office looked similar to Manly's office at work, almost eerily so. House wasted little time getting settled or taking note of the space, ordering Manly as soon as he saw her, "Tell him he's not responsible."

"For what, Gregory?" Manly asked calmly.

"For those people he was driving. Tell him that he's not the one who killed them."

"You've lost me," Manly said.

"Oh come on," House shook his head, "You're trying to tell me that you have no idea what's going on with him? That he never confided in you?"

"I'm sorry, I don-"

"It's fine," James interjected, "he'll figure it out. You can talk about it. Let's get this over with."

Manly nodded slowly, "OK."

"So tell him," House continued, "Tell him he's walking around carrying piles of guilt for something that he had nothing to do with."

"I can't tell him that."

"Why not? It's true."

"First of all, this is your appointment. Why are you bringing him to your appointment and ordering me to tell him how he feels? That's not what counseling is about."

"He needs this more than me. And it affects me."

"It does? How so?"

"Can we deal with the martyr first, and then worry about me?"

"No."

"Just no?"

"Just no. "

"He's carrying around guilt for that fucking roadside bomb. How is that his fault?"

"How does that affect you again? I missed that part," Manly added with completely aplomb.

"He's turning down the opportunity of a fucking lifetime because he feels like he's responsible for deaths he didn't cause. He thinks that means people shouldn't be able to trust him."

"How does that affect you?"

"I need him at the hospital. With me."

"You could see him at Stillwater occasionally. Find a gym where you can do PT together."

"He is not responsible for their deaths. He's walking around like he willingly slaughtered masses when he just happened to be present during an accident. No…not an accident…he was there when someone else, someone completely unrelated to him, willfully did something to cause harm."

"Greg, you're really pacing. You appear to be very upset. What is going on?" Manly asked firmly. House sat down and she continued, "I can't order him to feel guilty or not to feel guilty. People take responsibility for different events in different ways. That is not your problem, it's James'."

"But it's impacting me. And the people he can help. It's actually selfish, it's actually _causing_ harm, but he's acting like it's some sort of great moral high road. If he wants to feel guilty, he should feel guilty for all of the people who will be in more pain or less able to walk if he doesn't help them. That's something to feel guilty for."

"Why are we talking about James, while he's in the room? If this is about James, James should be talking, but instead, you're talking. So what is it about this that is so personal for you?"

"Because he's refusing to even consider the fact that he might be wrong. Maybe he doesn't need to carry all of this guilt. Do you think he's guilty?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. Your reaction to this is very adamant. Why is that?"

"I've been in his shoes, people blaming me for a death I didn't cause. This is bullshit," he spat angrily, his face ruddy and covered with irritation.

"Who? Whose death do people want you to accept the blame for?"

"It's not important."

"You don't think that maybe this is provoking the strength of your reaction?"

"James is the issue here. He needs to make a decision now. He's about to walk away from something that could make his life better."

Manly looked back and forth between the men, gently rocking a pen between her fingers.

"This is important. There are things people are responsible for…and things they aren't," House answered calmly. "This guy is carrying guilt for something he did not do."

"I did," James finally spoke, "I made decisions. I didn't build bombs, and I didn't hide them or set them up, but I played a role in those deaths. Me, personally. Like it or not, I did."

"Say something," House urged Manly.

"Like what?" she inquired.

"Tell him he's wrong. You're negligent if you let him go around thinking that."

"To him, his feelings of guilt make sense. You can't just wave a wand and disregard how he feels, no matter what you think he should feel. You can't force someone to deal with something they are not ready to deal with."

"He's here now."

"Because you dragged him here. That's hardly willingly."

"Isn't that why you made us leave for a while? So he could escape if he really wanted to?"

Manly tilted her head, avoiding the question although, in some way, confessing. "Why don't you try talking to James instead of yelling at me? You don't have to convince me, you have to convince him. Make an argument and support it. Your anger is fine, it's an acceptable and even healthy response, I'm not telling you not to be angry. But, your anger does nothing to address or change the issue. Take your anger, accept it. Now what are you going to do about it? This is important to you, Greg, so figure out how to articulate that."

"You're the shrink!"

"You're his friend."

James broke the tension, saying softly, "I appreciate that you want to help me, I do. I wish I could change what I did. I've played and replayed it in my mind. There were so many decisions I could have made differently. And if I did…they would be alive. Nothing I've tried or thought or considered has ever changed that. And the decisions I made for years after that did nothing to make things better."

"That doesn't mean that you're responsible," House replied, accepting that Manly was not going to help him.

"I played a part."

"Fine," House nodded, "you were _part_ of a series of events. One domino in a huge line of dominoes…for an event that you did not orchestrate or set into motion."

"I didn't say I was solely responsible. Had my domino fallen a different way, those people would be alive. I could have stopped the sequence of events."

"Or…someone else would have driven, and made the same exact choices you made."

"I suppose. Or they could have made better ones. I'll never know."

"People walk around all of the time, doing things to hurt other people. Intentionally. With malice or even hatred. You didn't do that."

"I have to accept my role. Why is that such a problem for you?"

"So accept it. You played no _part_. You were just _there_. You filled a role that someone was going to fill no matter what. At some point, someone was probably going to hit that bomb. If I'm in a crowd, and someone wants to hurt an old lady, so they push me into her, it's not my fault if she falls and breaks her hip. It's the asshole who pushed me into her. The guy who _wanted_ to hurt her."

"But you played a role in hurting her. Are you just going to walk away from her? Leave her on the floor crying? I don't know what you'd do, but I'd call an ambulance. Try to make sure she was comfortable and safe until they arrived. Maybe even send her balloons in the hospital. So no, I wouldn't be _responsible_, but I was there, and my life has now become entwined with hers. I am now part of her story."

House smirked and waited for James to notice.

"Why are you looking like that?" James asked.

"Because you made my case for me."

"How's that exactly?"

"You were pushed into the old lady. You're helping her afterwards. Come work at the hospital. The people who died are dead. There is nothing you can do about that. What you _can_ do, is take what happened, your experience, your loss of a limb, and transfer what you know to other people so their lives can be less shitty. It's the functional equivalent of helping the people who died. Like surrogates. You are helping people who were hurt in almost the same way. If that's why you need to do it, to let something better come from something really, really shitty, then do that. Don't sit around feeling guilty for something you were simply involved in, practically a bystander."

"Doesn't change what happened."

"Of course it doesn't change what happened. But if you have to feel guilty for it, at least do something with that guilt. Maybe, someday, it will help you feel less guilty."

The two talked, largely just the two of them, with Manly occasionally guiding their conversation. After a long session, nearly two hours, Manly finally suggested that they head home for the night. James stopped in the bathroom and Manly shook her head, "You have a gift, Gregory. You are very persuasive. Rough, but persuasive."

"How can you just sit there? How can you let him walk around feeling guilty?" House questioned, openly disappointed in Manly.

"I don't have a choice."

"He came to you for help, and you didn't help him. You let him walk away feeling like that."

"I don't control people's feelings. Ask him how many sessions he attended. People cannot be helped if they don't want to seek help. I told you that a while ago. People who are hell bent on feeling a certain way and do not want to consider alternatives will not be helped. They won't change."

"You made me see stuff. Forced me to try some things differently."

"No, I didn't. I made suggestions. You drew conclusions and followed through with behaviors. You were ready."

"I doubt that."

Manly laughed, "Do you want to know what's crazier than James feeling guilty for what happened? You…putting the credit for the changes you have made on me. No one could make those changes for you. Change is hard. Change hurts, and you've done it anyway because _you _wanted to do something different. I forced you to do nothing. I can't force…you can't force…James to change."

House smirked, "But you do think his guilt is crazy."

"No, I think you think it is. It doesn't matter what I think."

"But that's not what you said. You said, 'Do you want to know what's _crazier_ than James feeling guilty.' You think it's crazy too!"

"I think…that no matter what you or I feel about his guilt, it is his. What we think does not matter. However, what you did today, was to suggest to him an outlet for those feelings. And maybe once he has that, his sense of guilt will lessen. Sometimes, if you can't get someone from point A to point B…you at least nudge them to take the first few steps…get them started."

"So you think I should be a shrink?"

"No," Manly smirked and abruptly shook her head, "but if you happen to find a few souls along the way who need a good kick in the ass, give it to 'em."

House looked more satisfied about that comment than she expected. He stood as James came in the room, and Many said, somberly, "Sometimes in helping others…our own issues surface. Come prepared to talk next week, Gregory. Just you."

House barely bobbed his head, his sense of victory slipping away a bit.

"Have a good week, gentlemen!" Manly called to them while they left.

When House returned to Cuddy's that night, he found her at her dining room table. She was hovering over a laptop, reading glasses reflecting the brightness of her screen. "How'd it go?" she asked without looking up.

"He's taking the job," House responded, sitting in a chair across the table.

"Great, that's wonderful," she said as she took off her glasses and leaned back in her seat.

"You didn't call me."

"You were busy. Was I supposed to?"

"About tonight."

"House, what's going on?"

"I just came here automatically and you seemed to expect me."

"I thought you were coming home. You didn't give me reason not to."

"Is this my home?"

She closed her eyes slowly, bracing herself, "You are welcome here. Why?"

"So you wanted me to come here."

"Yes," she answered testily, "just tell me what's going on. Don't make me guess."

"You trust me with Rachel?"

"Without a doubt."

"You trust me with you?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you think you're in bed next to a murderer?"

"Of course not, who died?"

"Thinking about Amber."

"I thought that was…settled. I thought you and Wilson worked through all of that."

"We did. Sort of. More like walked around it."

"Why would I see you as a murderer?"

"You thought I should apologize. So you see me as responsible."

"Responsible? No. The accident, even her prescription...they were _responsible._ He was hurt and you were in some way involved and I thought it would help him if you acknowledged that. If you admitted that you were part of the situation. He was grieving, and he was hurt. I can't even imagine how much he was hurt."

"So you think I should feel guilty?"

"I didn't say that."

"You would feel guilty."

"Perhaps…a bit. Our guilt thresholds are different. You point out to me all of the time that I feel guilty for stuff you don't think I should feel guilty about. So why put your assessment of guilt on my scale. Guilt is a personal thing."

"Do you think I should feel guilty?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me if the woman I'm sleeping with thinks I'm a killer."

"The woman you're sleeping with? Nice. Thought I was a little more than your nightly bed-buddy."

"Ooops, sorry," he added sarcastically, "I hope boo-bear doesn't think daddy kills people for fun."

"Just seems…disrespectful. Like I'm the girl you're screwing."

"Yea, that's obviously it. That's exactly how I act."

"I don't think you should feel guilty. However, I think part of you did even if you said you didn't."

"How's that?"

"Jokes aside, you love Wilson. You were willing to do anything to fix that for him. The case, the DBS…god I was so angry about the DBS…you're lucky you had a brain left after that. House, you risked your life for him…no, not even for him…for his happiness. You didn't like Amber. That was for Wilson."

"It was to solve the case."

"I refuse to accept that answer as the truth. I can hear that it's a lie in your voice. It's as…artificial as saying I'm the 'woman you sleep with.' You did that so Wilson could have what he wanted. So Wilson could be happy. So either you felt some sense of guilt, no matter how small, or you love him. Maybe both."

"I don't love Wilson."

"You do…he's your friend. One of the few you've had. And your friendship is different, to say the least. But he matters to you. His _happiness_ matters to you. I don't think it matters how you label it …whatever happened…it's still taking up space in your head. It's still bothering you. But you did what you could to make it right, even at the risk of your own life. So you can walk around and tell everyone that you're the biggest asshole, that you're screwing the boss for the perks and 'the twins.' You can tell them that you don't feel guilty, and you don't really care about Wilson, but your actions…blow all of those theories into tiny pieces."

House said very little for the rest of the night while Cuddy worked and his mind cycled through thoughts of Amber, Wilson and James, and thoughts of guilt itself, and what it meant. As soon as House began to dream that night, he found his younger self, sitting on a mangled bus, almost giddy with joy. "So what is it? Do we feel guilty, or don't we?"

"I don't feel guilty," House insisted, finding a spot to sit on the bus.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we don't feel guilty because we're happy. We were happy, right? Happy she died?" His younger self circled Amber's body, the only body on the bus.

"No. I never wanted that."

"We're a selfish bastard, you and I. I can't wait until this experiment is over. When we can go back to the way things were. Why hide who we are?"

House stood and walked toward the front of the bus, pausing to look down at the memory of Amber's nearly lifeless body. He reached initially to check her vitals, for a moment, wondering if he could find a way to change the ending, but his extended fingers curled into a fist and he stood up again.

"Don't leave, buddy," his younger self said with sickening sweetness. "We're the same, you and I. We belong here."

"No," House shook his head, "I'm not staying. There was a time when I wanted to stay here, but I just...I don't want to do that anymore."

"Run all you want, you can't change who you are."

"There are a few things I need to figure out. But maybe I don't need to change who I am. Maybe…thinking that I needed to change who I am…that I was somehow just like you, was where I was wrong all along."

"You're actually listening to these morons? To Cuddy and Manly…really? Big mistakes. You'll regret it."

"Maybe," House shrugged, "but it's my choice. And me…I'm outta here."


	19. Truths

_A/N-Thanks to everyone who reviewed this last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, BabalooBlue, JM, OldSFfan, ammeboss, Robin, JLCH, housebound, jaybe61, LapizSilkwood, KiwiClare, chebelle, Suzieqlondon, linda12344, Abby, MrsBock, freeasabird14, lenasti16, HuddyGirl, Reader, Alex, ikissedtheLaurie, Boo's House, dmarchl21, Mon Fogel and BJAllen815._

* * *

_-_Truths-_  
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"I found this on your table," House announced when he came through her office door.

He frisbeed the invitation onto her desk. "I told you we were invited," she said, pushing the envelope back toward him across the flat surface.

"They sent one with both of our names on it? An amended one?"

"I think Cameron was trying to be polite. And I didn't RSVP yet, so perhaps she was reminding."

"Are you going?"

"Yea," she affirmed, "I need to. I'm their boss. I guess sort of…a friend."

"You and Cameron are _friends_?" he shouted, trying to agitate.

"Professionally, I need to go. And, I'm happy for them."

"I hate weddings."

"You don't have to go. I'm not going to have the wedding argument with you. I'll start to expect things like that after we've been together a few more months…you've been warned. Until then, I'll go on my own."

"What about the whole…wanting to go to a wedding with the man of your dreams dream?"

"Where did you find him?" she snickered, while she tidied her desk.

"In the mirror, baby," he announced with a purposefully puffed chest.

She shook her head, unable to contain her amused laugh. "I'm not going to make you go. Like I said, I don't feel like the argument. Unless…you _want_ to go?"

"Do you need me to come up with a list of grotesque and-or painful things I'd rather do than go to a wedding?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

"You're just going to let this go?"

"Yea."

"Now I _want_ to go."

"I'm sure you do," she rolled her eyes as she spoke.

"If you're not going to _make_ me go…maybe _do_ I wanna go."

There was a knock and she commented, quietly, "I think I read about this in a parenting magazine…should that worry me?" He smirked and she called to the door, "Come in."

Two members of the board entered, Martin White, one of Cuddy's loudest adversaries, led the way. "Such a pleasant coincidence, Dr. Cuddy, to find Dr. House here," White said while he looked down at House before also taking a seat.

Cuddy pressed her hands flat against her desk while she sat back to address the visitors, "Is everything alright?"

"Well," White said, looking between Cuddy and House again, exaggeratedly drawing attention to his gesture, "we were reviewing our thoughts on this new department and some questions arose."

"I'm always available to answer questions or address any concerns."

"I'm not sure you're the right person, Dr. Cuddy. We were considering the conflict of interest here, and we're…concerned."

"I don't see a conflict of interest," she answered calmly. "James Gaines is a professional whose expertise and abilities have been demonstrated. This is a unique opportunity for this hospital, as well as the four wounded veterans and the seven year-old triple amputee who have already requested admission to the program. There is no conflict of interest."

"Your selection of Mr. Gaines, your association with him, is a personal one, correct?"

"No."

"Then what is it exactly? We've heard that he served as Dr. House's personal physical therapist."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss Dr. House's health information. That would be a violation of his privacy, you know that."

"But you met Mr. Gaines through Dr. House's treatment, he admitted that. That was part of your presentation to convince us all to sign onto this project. Is that not correct?"

"Of course it's correct," House interjected, "but that doesn't mean it's a conflict of interest. I'm getting around better than I have in a long time. It's not a conflict, it means she has proof that he knows what he's doing."

"Dr. House, perhaps you should wait outside," White suggested.

"I'm fine here. You're implying that Cuddy's judgment is impaired-"

"I'm not really implying that. I'm saying it clearly. Dr. Cuddy's judgment _is_ impaired. She's allowing her personal relationship with you to reign. She's creating this department _because_ of whatever it is that is going on between you."

House began to speak but stopped when he met Cuddy's gaze and she spoke, "Mr. White, I have filed the necessary paperwork and complied with hospital regulations in regards to personal relationships that occur between coworkers."

"You aren't coworkers. You're his boss," White stated.

"If you want to suggest another supervisor for Dr. House, then give me a list of names. We'll talk to them together because I want to meet them," she challenged. "Now, as I was saying, I have followed all necessary protocols, done all of the paperwork and been completely forthcoming. This isn't some…dirty back alley deal. We're professionals here, we know how to conduct ourselves. To be honest, it's insulting that you'd suggest anything else."

"It's insulting to us as well. Dr. House is this hospital's single biggest liability."

"Also…greatest asset."

"He's rude and condescending."

"Agreed. Which is why he isn't employed as a patient advocate or director of public relations."

"He makes inappropriate comments-"

"Often. He also saves lives. And, if you consider his type of work, has a very high success rate, compared to departments that deal with high risk patients. Most of his are already near death. These aren't appendectomies or broken arms or double bypasses. These are patients no one else can help."

"Does that excuse the behavior?"

"Like it or not, it affords him some leeway. Because it would be insane to dismiss him based on inappropriate comments or condescending behavior. Before patients come in, they know what they are getting. If they want to live, they put up with it."

House was, for once, practically wordless, watching the slightly aggressive body language and tone of White compared to Cuddy, who easily seemed to volley each new attack without breaking a sweat or even moving from her initial position to defend.

"You are commonly a target of his barbs, from what staff say," White commented, "Doesn't that bother you?"

"If I am a common target, and I can put up with it, then I guess everyone should be able to. I have no regrets in hiring him. Or keeping him on."

"Then perhaps we should look for a new Dean."

"Bring it to vote," Cuddy said with poise, "feel free to present the motion at the next meeting or hold an emergency meeting if you feel the hospital is in jeopardy from my decisions. The board _together_ voted to start this new department. There was," she started thinking, looking up into the air, "you, Simpson, Walker, what…what's that guy's name…the new one? I wish I could remember."

White looked taken aback and said quickly, "Fine, Dr. Cuddy you're right, we all agreed. There's no need to do a roll call, this is just a discussion. I'm here as a friend trying to prevent you from making any mistakes that will cost this hospital."

"Well, Martin, since we're friends…let's drop the formalities…Martin, it will just make me crazy if I can't remember his name. You wanted to involve him on the board, right? Also suggested his name for the new Head of Cardiology, if I'm not mistaken?"

"OK, Dr. Cuddy, but that isn't the same thing."

"Isn't it?" Cuddy stared, still with perfect ease but unrelentingly attention.

"I want what's best for the hospital."

"So do I. Speaking of proven track records, I have one with this hospital, I've proven myself, time and again. This is what's best. I agree. The board agreed. When you voted, you also agreed, so I'm guessing you are here to bargain for something. I'm not in much of a bargaining mood."

"I'd never try to…" White stopped.

"Here's the thing," she explained, "we could refuse to hire Mr. Gaines based on the fact that he was House's physical therapist. He's the best one I've met. I met him because he helped House. So in some ways, why should I punish the hundreds of people he'll likely help by not hiring him? _Not_ hiring him because he knows House is as ridiculous as hiring him solely _because_ he knows House. He was chosen based on his abilities, credentials and a proven history of success. Not who he knows. Any other questions?"

"Yours is the name associated with his. And House's. If things go wrong, I guess it's on you."

"Every problem at this hospital is on me. Every day. From the smallest mistakes to biggest malpractice suits. That does not scare me. Dr. Hall!" she proudly declared, as if the name had just come to her, "that's it. I remember. That's his name isn't it? That handsome, young doctor you brought here…the one you suggested for Cardiology?"

"That's his name, Dr. Cuddy."

"I'd hate to overlook him, just because he's _associated _with you. That would cost the hospital in the long run, don't you think? Hall is full of promise, interested in innovation, exceptionally bright…"

"As long as you're comfortable with your decision, Dr. Cuddy," White answered, with the smallest hint of a sneer.

"I wouldn't make the decision if I wasn't comfortable with them, Martin."

"Obviously you wouldn't," White said, forcing a smile and standing to join his fellow board member, "I would never suggest that."

Cuddy smiled in a sweet way that was made all the eerier by the power she seemed to hold, which was exacerbated even further by the fact that she seemed completely at ease at all times. "It was great seeing you gentlemen, you know my door is always open to hear your concerns."

After they left, Cuddy flashed a brief smile and stood with a few papers that she carried over to the cabinet. House's mouth was slightly open, brow furrowed and he looked utterly awed. "What just happened? What do you have on him? He has a thing going on with Hall? Or Hall has something on him?"

"I can't tell you, you'll use it."

"No, I won't," he defended steadfastly.

"Yea, you will," she answered over her shoulder. "Some day you'll need something from him."

He nodded slightly, already scanning his memory for clues, "You're probably right. Something to do with him and Hall."

"I'm not saying," she answered in singsong.

"Watching you in action is still hot and scary."

She chuckled and pointed to the bathroom. "I was just accused of favoritism. I'm definitely not having sex with you here in the office, particularly now, just minutes after being accused."

"Sex isn't favoritism."

"At the office it definitely is. I'm not about to extend the invitation to everyone."

"That whole…House is awesome speech? You just came up with that?"

Laughing for a few seconds, she shook her head and looked up from her work, "I've given that speech, or some variation of it, more times than I've given my own _name_ in introduction. It's practiced."

"People come in like that a lot?"

"Or like you. Most people don't come in here unless they're upset about something or need something. It's not like people often stop in for a chat or to say thanks."

"Except Wilson."

"Yea…except Wilson."

"Sometimes me."

"You are usually more along the lines of mad-at-something or need-something than to say thanks or to chat. It's part of the job. I'm not complaining."

"Maybe I don't come in here to say thanks because this is a crappy place to express gratitude. Anyone can say 'thanks.' Gratitude should be demonstrated, not discussed."

"I'll tell Wilson the next time he's in here."

"Let's go to lunch. Now."

"Now?"

"Yes. My desire to express gratitude doesn't appear often, but the urge is severe."

Cuddy laughed, "In a half hour."

"Or…now. Feelings of gratitude are fleeting…"

"Then you weren't feeling that thankful," she smirked.

"My gratitude would likely last for…ten more minutes."

"Can you stretch those appreciative feelings for fifteen? I can go in fifteen."

"Sure," he said as he set his watch, folded his hands and waited.

"Don't you have something you want to do for the next fifteen minutes besides watching me work?"

"Nope."

"Fine," she sighed while she tried to continue under his stare.

"We're pretty good at this compromise thing."

"We're seasoned negotiators. We've been bartering and bargaining here at work for years. Why not use some of the skills we've honed at work in our personal lives?"

"In that case, may I take some tissue samples? I have a few questions."

* * *

When House drove them to his apartment, she was not at all surprised. After only a few days at PPTH, they were sneaking over there simply to diffuse the tension that was omnipresent in the air between them when working. Rachel and the nanny were at Cuddy's, there was little point in renting a motel room when his place was close and they didn't have to deal with time wasted on checking in or worry about whose bodily fluids were on the duvet. Plus there was still something about going to his place, something that made their affair seem more sneaky and exciting than simply going back to the familiarity of her home, where the responsibilities of life and childcare were always evident.

He enjoyed the way they would simply walk in, and somehow clothes would begin to disappear. Usually between kisses and pawing and other things that were fun, but always led to things that were even more fun. And they'd find their way to a sofa or bed or piano bench or floor, they were new enough together that it didn't even matter where they made it to in order to address the more pressing needs between them.

When he stopped her hands so he could undress her, she was a little confused but he whispered against her ear, "Long lunch."

In these private moments, the power he had over her became more clear. She was very good at maintaining boundaries at work, at keeping the physical part of their relationship off of hospital grounds, for the most part, but in some ways the restraint exhausted her.

Once they were alone, he felt her rub her cheek against his face in a way that he was already used to, and he knew she did not object to the idea of a long lunch. It was part of what he enjoyed about her, the way that he did not have to feel like he was bothering her for sex, or somehow that his libido was freakishly too active compared to hers. She was turned on enough to not ask questions when he wanted to completely take control, to be allowed the freedom to direct everything they did. Sometimes it felt good to let go for a while.

She was wriggling beneath him in his bed while he explored her sex with his mouth and his hands. Hardly a passive partner, she was doing exactly what he wanted her to do, what he needed her to do, reacting with sounds and physical responses and words spawned from her arousal. She came so fully that she sat part way up, still flexing her hips against him, still dragging out the sensations even when her body started to suggest that she push him away. He even knew when that moment would hit too, he would know when to back away a bit. Not ready to stop tasting her, he started again, but she protested, pulling him up toward her and trying to flip him over. Given his weight compared to hers, it was not a task she could easily complete without his compliance. "Come here," she urged, with feminine allure. She smiled when he pushed her back down on the bed. She asked, softly, "What are you doing?"

"What does it feel like I'm doing," he smirked against her.

She moaned a high, acquiescent sound and he felt victory was his until she sat up again, "I mean what are you doing not coming up here?"

A powerful temptress, Cuddy encouraged him while he licked and kissed his way up her stomach to her breast and he said, in between moments when his mouth was not occupied, "Reminding you why you put up with me."

He could almost hear her snap to conscious thought. She practically hissed, "This is not why I put up with you."

"No?"

"No," she answered immediately. He was next to her, his body long against her side with one leg and one arm over her. "Tell me why I am I with you? You should…_know_."

"You don't like the sex?" he tried to tease, to snap her out of her moment of glaring sobriety in the midst of intoxicating intimacy.

"I love the sex. But it's not why I'm here."

"Do you get tired of defending me? Fighting with me?"

"Nope. Except for during sex. I'm less fond of fighting during sex."

"Noted."

"Why do you think I'm with you? I want to hear you say that you know why."

"Because you like troublemakers."

"True. But not the answer to this question. I told you before we even left for Stillwater. I've spent all of this time demonstrating how I feel."

"I know."

"Tell me you know how I feel."

"Later," he mumbled, trying to redirect her from the discussion.

"You know I love you, right?" she whispered.

He nodded, staring, his eyes away from her face.

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" she asked, trying to get his attention with a kiss.

"I don't know," he answered with honesty, "but I _do_ believe you."

She breathed with surprise because she was shocked, she never thought he would come to accept her feelings as truth. She teased, "Does this mean I no longer have to prove it to you?"

"No. Keep proving it," he grinned, eyeing her suggestively. "It feels good. I like it."

She smiled, pulling him against her, and he easily followed her suggestion. She breathed in sharply as he pushed into her, attempting and failing at nonchalance. He was conveniently able to hide intensity of what his mind felt in the expression of his body's pleasure.

He noted the slightest reservation in her, a sense of loneliness that she wore like a sheer veil, enough to recognize through the cloud of sex and pleasure. He liked it when she was there with him, invested, both present and lost.

"You know how I feel," he whispered, "tell me you know."

She hesitated momentarily, torn between her mind and her body, but she searched his eyes, her hands moving to either side of his face. "I do. I know," her hazy voice barely managed before they rushed to each other again, less coordinated as they expressed feelings that were not organized and neat, but deeply felt.

When they were driving back to the hospital, House, looking out the window, stated, "I love you."

She studied him for a moment while he drove, and she answered, with a relieved smile, "I believe you. I know it's true, but I still like to hear it."

House suggested, "Let's go out tomorrow night. Music, I'll make reservations to eat at a place you actually need reservations for…"

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow after you work you drive up to see Claudia. Thursday, we could go on Thursday."

"No Manly tomorrow."

"Claudia rescheduled?"

"Week off for good behavior. Let's go out."

Smiling Cuddy agreed, "Sounds great."


	20. And Lies

_A/N-Thanks to all who have reviewed since the last: Tori, BabalooBlue, JM, LapizSilkwood, JLCH, Guest, lenasti16, IHeartHouseCuddy, byte size, Huddyphoric, OldSFfan, JafryD, chebelle, housebound, KiwiClare, ikissedtheLaurie, jaybe61, Suzieqlondon, linda12344, Little Greg, Abby, freeasabird14, HuddyGirl, Alex, LoveMyHouse, Mon Fogel (MF), dmarchl21 and BJAllen815. _

_I think I'll have a one-shot ready some time this weekend and the next chapter of this one will be up early next week. Thank you so much to all of you who are reading!_

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-And Lies-

House peered down the hall to watch Cuddy as she hurried around to get ready. He was looking forward to their evening out alone. The babysitter was already in the living room with Rachel, and Cuddy looked as relaxed and happy as she did during the simpler days at Stillwater. The devastation of earlier weeks seemed almost a distant memory, and House finally felt like he was really moving beyond the time of endless pain and Vicodin. When the doorbell rang, he assumed it was the pizza they were having delivered for the babysitter. Grabbing the money from the table in the hallway, he swung open the door and was face to face with a very displeased Claudia Manly.

Manly stood on the doorstep with her arms folded, dressed casually, but, as always, somehow making jeans and a sweater look formal. Cuddy came up behind him, and placed a hand on his back as she looked between House and the guest. "Gregory, you missed your session," Manly said, "I was concerned."

Cuddy stepped back, pressing her lips together with frustration. "I'll let you take care of this," she told House before she walked down the hall to the bedroom.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Manly asked.

House waved his arm for her to enter, explaining, "I needed a night off."

"Is there somewhere that we can talk? Somewhere a bit more private?"

House directed Manly to the kitchen and said, "Just give me a few minutes."

He found Cuddy in their room, slipping out of the sexy but informal dress she had been in and putting on more comfortable clothes for an evening at home. "I'm gonna talk to Manly for a few minutes. We can go out after that."

"Some other night, don't worry about it," Cuddy answered without looking at him.

"You aren't pissed, are you? I can tell her to leave. Reschedule."

"I'm not upset that she's here. I'm upset that you lied."

"No," he extended an emphasizing finger, "I did not lie."

"You said you didn't have an appointment."

"I said I wasn't seeing Manly tonight. Which was the truth. You assumed Manly rescheduled."

"I at least assumed she knew you weren't coming. I don't like being lied to."

"It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. Besides, it's not like I was out getting high or sleeping around. I was taking you out. I was doing something nice for you."

"Go meet with Claudia. We'll talk afterwards."

"Just give me a few minutes and I can still take you out."

"No. I'm not in the mood for going out anymore. At all," she replied as she roughly shoved the dresser drawer shut.

"As soon as I'm done with Manly, let's go get dinner. We still need to eat."

Cuddy sighed, "We need to talk about this. Tonight. I'm not OK with being lied to."

"Sure. We'll talk about it. Just not tonight."

"Yes. Tonight."

"Fine," House conceded before trudging from the room.

He took Manly out to the patio and gestured for her to sit, but she stood behind a chair. "You hunt down all of your patients who don't show up," he asked. "Is this one of those _payment is due if you don't cancel at least twenty-four hours in advance _kind of visits?"

"No, it isn't. This is the first time I have ever gone to find a patient."

"Guess that means I'm lucky."

"I've relaxed a lot of boundaries with you. I've switched times, invited you to my home office. I've shared personal information. I rarely step outside of a very strict doctor-patient relationship with any of my patients. And yet I've treated you differently. Perhaps that was my mistake, allowing myself to stray from that structure. I shouldn't have relaxed my standards."

"It wasn't a mistake. I just needed a night off. Why is everyone so worked up about me needing one fucking night off."

"You didn't call to reschedule either. I was sitting in my office at home, waiting for you. And when you were a half hour late, I didn't worry too much. Then at the hour I became more concerned. By an hour and a half, I became angry. You've trodden all over my comfort zones, and I've tried to help you, because I believe you want to do things a little bit differently in your life. I thought that you wanted to fight the problems that plague you and I put a lot of faith in that. I put a lot of faith in you, but you left me sitting in my office without any explanation or warning. No phone call, email or text message. I actually became worried. For some reason…entirely against my better judgment…I am here."

"There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"I think you were avoiding tonight's topic…more than me or a session in general."

"Right now I need to avoid this conversation so I can go figure out what's going on with Cuddy."

"Going on with her?"

"I may have allowed her to believe that you and I were not supposed to meet tonight."

"Allowed her to believe? You lied about it?" Manly asked.

"I made a general statement that she misunderstood and I did not correct that misunderstanding."

"In the long run, the effect is the same. She didn't get the truth from you. Lying by omission or commission…two sides of the same coin. Do you think she feels like she was lied to?"

"From what I saw in the few seconds I had to talk to her? Yes. Which is why I want to talk to her instead of standing out here and arguing about whether or not I was actually lying."

"I'm not here for your session. I'm here to provide…a warning. A reminder. This is the last time I will ever come after you. From now on, the responsibility is solely on your shoulders. If you want to continue, come to your next session. If you decide to quit, my door is open for a time when you want…or need…to come back."

House was looking through the door, watching Cuddy in the kitchen where she was getting a drink.

"Gregory?" Manly called to him.

"Yea," he answered, still distractedly staring through the window.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking that I want to talk to Cuddy. The same thing I _told_ you I was thinking about the last time you asked. I neither committed or omitted."

"You seem unsettled."

"She's pissed. I don't want her to be pissed."

"Doesn't she have a right to be?"

"No."

"Why do you think she's upset?"

"Because she thinks that I lied. But I didn't."

"For you, the fact that you technically didn't lie is explanation enough. For her, the feeling is the same whether you technically lied or not. Whether it was technically a lie or functionally a lie, she's going to feel the same."

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

"Why do you think being lied to would make her feel upset?"

"She probably feels irritated that she didn't see the…misunderstanding."

"So it's about pride?"

"Maybe."

"Alright. What else?"

"I don't know."

"How would you feel if she lied to you?" Manly asked.

"Depends on what she lied about. And why. This is nothing. This isn't a big deal."

"Why did you lie to her?"

"Because I didn't want her to make me go see you. I wanted to do something else. With her."

"Why would she _make_ _you_ come see me?"

"I don't know. Ask her."

"Alright," Manly nodded.

"Alright?"

"Tonight, I want you to ask her. Hopefully you choose to talk about this with her. When you do, find out why she would want you to come see me. Now, why didn't you want to come see me?"

"I just wanted a night off."

"You've pushed your way into sessions with me more times than not. Then last week, you brought James into my office in a way that was sort of like a rescue mission. You really wanted to help him. I believe that and I allowed it. But it was also personal. I let it go last time, because you were helping James. But you can't hide the truth. It _was_ personal."

"It was personal…for _James_."

"Then you're putting a lot of effort into trying to avoid something that isn't about you. You sidestepped these questions during your session last week, and you are sidestepping them now. Every step of the way, our sessions have been based on the foundation of your willingness. I hope you show up next week, I'm certainly not going to force you to. I've told you before, gains are hard to make and easy to lose. Take care of you and your recovery first, or you'll find yourself on the outside looking in at the people you love for far longer than a few minutes on a Wednesday night."

Manly began to walk back in and House asked, "That's it? You're leaving?"

"Yea. I'm not a mobile therapist. I came here as a person who was concerned for your well-being, not as your psychiatrist. If you want therapy, support, some good suggestions…growth and continued sobriety? Come to your next appointment. You have to want it. That has not changed."

House seemed thrown off, uncomfortable being stuck in his body with his own confusion, "I'll see you next week."

"I hope I see you next week. I'm going in this way so I can say goodbye to Lisa before I leave. If that's OK?"

"Sure."

"Bye," she said, the finality of the words communicating the fact that she wasn't entirely convinced that she would see him again.

After Manly left, House caught up with Cuddy in the hallway, and said, with loud nervousness, "She knows how to suck the fun out of a party, doesn't she?"

Cuddy offered no verbal response, smiling stiffly. She was no longer wearing the tantalizing outfit she had originally worn for the evening, but at least she did not slip into the pajamas he saw her gathering before he convinced her that they should still go out.

"We missed our reservation, so…," he began.

"We'll just go somewhere that we can talk."

"We can still have a good time. I don't want to let her ruin our night."

"She didn't. You did when you lied."

He watched while she went into the living room to kiss Rachel goodbye and leave final instructions for the babysitter. They found a quiet restaurant, one they had visited before. Requesting seats in the dark dining area in the back, they faced each other silently. Seated in a tall-backed and mostly private wooden booth, they ordered drinks and House leaned forward to try to lighten the mood, "Who's up for a quickie?"

"No, thank you," Cuddy shook her head. "I want to know what happened. I was happy to go out with you on Thursday or nearly any other night of the week. You insisted on Wednesday. The only evening when we had plans. Why?"

"Wednesday was sooner."

"So you lied to me because you were feeling impatient?"

"No. I didn't lie."

"I'm sure you can argue that the words you spoke were all within the realms of truth so I'm not even going to ask. I don't want to listen to you justify and excuse the deception."

"Good. Then we're good."

"We aren't good with this," she shook her head, her eyes sad and frustrated. "We've built a lot of trust between us. And I was to the point where I was giving you total trust without even the slightest reservation. So now I'm left to wonder…should I start considering whether or not everything you say has another meaning? Because I think you want me to trust you. And how are you going to feel when you tell me something, and I need to consider the fifteen different ways that it could be interpreted, so I ask you fifteen questions. Is that what you want? You want me to assume everything you tell me is somehow misleading? That sounds exhausting for me and irritating for you. You'll feel untrusted and I'll feel…paranoid."

"I just needed a night off."

"So how about the phrase, 'I need a night off from Manly, so I'm going to reschedule'? Or, 'I can't deal with Manly tonight, so I'm taking a week off'? What would be so wrong about saying those things to me?"

"You would have made me go. You would feel paranoid and worried that I'm going to relapse…"

"If you quit Manly, yea. If you take a week off once in a while…no I won't."

"Yea, you will."

The waitress brought their drinks and disappeared again. Cuddy, forearms resting on the table, leaned forward, "Even if I would worry, I'd rather you tell me. Now it looks like you're hiding something."

"I'm not hiding something."

"Is this about your last session? Are you still worrying that I think you're a murderer?"

House's eyes tightened and he stared at his finger while he played with the flame of the candle that sat on the table between them. He watched it flicker each time his finger waved through the fire. Cuddy said nothing, watching him, observing him while she could see the thoughts behind his concentration on an object completely unrelated to the current issue. "You said you trusted me," he finally said. "You said you didn't think I was a murderer."

"I do trust you and I don't think you are murderer. Maybe you didn't want to talk about that with Manly, about the past and Amber. You seemed upset when you got home last week. Or maybe there was something else that you were going to discuss with her. Are you worried you're going to relapse?"

"No."

"Have you already relapsed?"

"No!" he answered disgustedly.

"See, now I'm wondering if this is some sneaky legalese way that you're avoiding the actual question."

"You want a piss test? I'll do it."

She shook her head, staring back the candle between them. "No, that's not what I want. I want you to tell me the truth whenever we talk, and I want to believe you."

"Then believe me."

"Look, House, I'll get past _this_ lie. On the scheme of things, it's not like anything horrible happened. It wasn't like this lie was hurtful or destructive."

"Exactly."

"But I don't want to have to ask twenty questions every time we discuss something to make sure there isn't a hidden truth. And I…I'm going to count on you to make sure not only that you tell me the truth, but…that you make sure I understand the reality. I need that from you."

"I know," he answered somberly, putting the sconce back on the candle and allowing his eyes to glance up at her face.

"Can you do that?"

"Yea."

"About therapy…"

"I know, Cuddy, I got the lecture from Manly. I need to do this. Sometimes it would be nice to return to the world of not caring _why _I do everything that I do and analyzing every little detail of my life. It's not easy."

"I was thinking about that. I do expect that you go. It's good for you…at least I _think_ it's good for you and, hopefully, it will help you keep what you've worked for."

"I know."

"And in some way, _we _benefit from it. As a _we._ Which means, I personally benefit from it. If you're doing all of these things to keep yourself healthy…I'm going too."

"To Manly?"

"No. I'll find my own, someone close to work, someone objective," she offered.

"You're doing this for me?"

"No. For me. But, if _we_ can benefit from it, and you can benefit from it…that would be good. There are two of us in this relationship. We're both…complicated people to say the least. I think if we want to work, we need to come to the table with our best. You're doing that and I want to meet you half way. Plus it's good for Rachel if I don't turn into a professionally successful version of my mother. We all win."

House stared for a moment while their food came. Cuddy thanked the waitress and shifted plates around while House considered what Cuddy was offering. Releasing the utensils from the napkin, Cuddy looked up and smiled and said, "Are we OK?"

He nodded, a tiny but noticeable bob of his head.

"Are you going to eat?" she asked. "We could take this home if you aren't hungry."

"You're really willing to do that?"

"Sure, I don't care if we eat at home."

"I mean see a shrink."

"Yea. I'm going to see if I can start next week. You aren't the only crazy one at the table," she said with an almost bashful smile. "I thought a lot about this tonight. About how important I think it is for you to go. I need to do this too."

He slowly released his own utensils, still watching her. "You're kinda worrying me now," she replied to his silence.

"I didn't think you would go."

"I am, I'm doing it. I shouldn't expect you to do something that I wouldn't do."

"It's becoming repetitive…but thank you. Your…your gesture is definitely noticed."

"It's not just a gesture."

"I know. Your attempt."

"Good," she answered as she speared some food. "Now eat something or let's get it to go. I'm hungry and I don't feel like eating alone."

He looked directly at her without the slightest wavering and said sincerely, "I will try really hard not to lie to you. And I'll try not to…disguise the truth. I can't promise perfection. That's the best I can offer. "

"It's a good start. Even with your offer…you're being honest. But, in the future, if you can't tell me the truth, I'd rather you just tell me you can't talk about it than lie or mislead me."

"You think you'd be OK with me saying, 'I just can't tell you the truth right now'?" he scoffed.

"I won't like it. But it won't break our trust."

"I'll try."

"I want this," Cuddy said, pointing to each of them with her fork, "and if I can't have it, I want to know I _really_ tried. I want to know that I did everything that I could to make it work."


	21. Demonstration

_A/N-Thank you so much to all of you for following and favoriting this story, and to all who have reviewed since last time: KiwiClare, jkarr, IHeartHouseCuddy, linda12344, JM, ikissedtheLaurie, LoveMyHouse, lenasti16, jaybe61, Guest, Suzieqlondon, freeasabird14, BabalooBlue, chebelle, vicpei1, Abby, dmarchl21, BJAllen815, HuddyGirl, Alex, Huddyphoric, JLCH, Boo's House, Mon Fogel, LapizSilkwood and Ann._

_OK, one chapter left. I'll try to post by Tuesday._

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-Demonstration-

House wasn't really sure if he found Manly's persistence endearing or irritating. He and Manly were remarkably alike, for people who seemed so different. Manly made almost constant attempts to remain professional and keep her personal feelings aside, but of all of the patients in the world that she could actually like, she liked _House_. He could tell.

He was in her driveway a few minutes early, but waited in his car. A minute before his session, he walked through the lower entrance to Manly's home and found her waiting for him. She gestured for him to take a seat and greeted him clinically, but it was obvious that she felt relieved to see him. Once he was seated and they shared a few moments of opening discussion, she said, "So, Gregory, did you talk to Lisa about your disagreement and the reasons why she would want you to continue therapy?"

"Yea, I did. Actually, she's going to start seeing her own Manly."

"Wonderful," Manly agreed, "so you outlined expectations for her? Told her you wanted her to see a therapist too?"

"Me? No."

"Then how did that come about?"

"She just said she was going to."

"What provoked her decision? Something must have made therapy seem like a good idea for her as well."

"She expected me to go, I guess she felt it was hypocritical if she didn't go too."

"That's it?"

"And…she's a little bit crazy, wants to avoid scarring her child unnecessarily."

"That's it?"

"I don't know. What else should there be?"

"I feel like there's more."

"She said…she wants us to work. She wants to put all reasonable efforts forth," he answered, the disclosure appearing painful to him.

"How did you feel when she told you that?"

"Confused."

"Why?"

"Because…most people don't seem to think _she's_ crazy. People think she has everything together. That's why I seem like such an insane choice for her."

"Does she think she's crazy?"

"Yea, apparently."

"Not everyone goes to therapy because they're worried that they're crazy. They go to talk, stay in touch, feel focused…have some objective discussions about how they feel or where they are at."

House sneered.

"Do _you_ think she's crazy?" Manly asked.

House looked around, either searching for a response or avoiding the need to provide one.

"Lisa isn't here," Manly reminded, "you can say whatever is on your mind."

"I'd say whatever's on my mind if she was here too."

"Go on then."

"She's…not, I mean…she's a little bit crazy too. She admitted that. She'd have to be, right?"

"Why's that?"

"She wants to date me. She doesn't appear to be terrified of what I'll teach her kid."

"And those things mean that she's crazy?"

"Yea. A little. Everyone's a little off. The people who appear to _not_ be a little off are usually the craziest ones."

"Is that so?"

"You look really together," he suggested with a knowing grin.

"Of course, it's always the quiet ones," Manly responded without humor in her voice. "I want to talk about what happened with James."

"I won. He took the job. I know it was outside of the scope of our normal sessions, but I tend to be more successful outside of scopes than in them. Your help was useful."

"I'm glad that James is doing well. But, I didn't mean that as much as…tell me why James' circumstance was so personal to you. There's clearly an event or set of circumstances, you hinted about it when you were talking to James. I think we have to look at this before we can move on to something else. So would you like me to come up with a series of carefully honed questions to get at the heart of what happened, or would you like to give me your version of the story first…and I can follow up with questions until I feel I have an understanding?"

"Is there a third option?"

"No."

"Your one word answers almost always suck," he complained.

Manly dropped her pen and folded her hands, waiting. House sighed and used his finger to follow the seam of the cushion next to him for a while until he finally agreed, "Fine," and he told Manly the story of Amber. He mentioned Amber's position on his team, the tensions that existed between them surrounding Wilson and even the night she died. He slowed when he discussed the days after the accident, Wilson's suspicion that perhaps House had carried on an affair with Amber immediately before her death, the lengths House went to in order to solve the case and his eventual inability to save the woman. Then he discussed the aftermath and the separation from Wilson, and he couldn't entirely hide the hurt in his tone.

"Thank you for your honesty," Manly nodded, "you've been dragging your feet on this topic, but once you decided, you really made an effort to describe the situation thoroughly."

House looked away uncertainly.

"Why?" Manly followed up.

"Why what?"

"Why were you so honest about it? At least I got the impression that you were being honest."

"I didn't lie."

"You don't think it's strange that you've tried so hard to avoid the topic, but you were so forthcoming today?"

"Cuddy said the other night that she wants to know that, even if we fail, she did everything she could do…that she made all reasonable efforts. I've gone this far…I caved and started seeing a shrink, I've…_tried_. I don't want to fail. Not just about Cuddy, I mean that's part of it, I mean…being clean. I don't want to go crazy. I don't want to fall apart and have to count on someone else to drag me out of some apartment somewhere to get help because I can't even do it myself. I'm…"

Manly waited, but House was finished with his statement. "You won't fail."

"You don't know that. I failed with Amber when I didn't save her. I've had a few cases, personal and professional relationships, lots of jobs that didn't end well."

"The things you put the most effort into sometimes hurt the most if they don't work out because there's so much invested. Or sometimes it hurts when we don't try at all because we know we could have done better. To me those are my failures. The things I never even fought for. You may not accomplish every goal you set out to accomplish, but you, as a person, will not be a failure if you keep identifying and addressing the problems of life. It's like with James. You wanted to help him. You took what you knew could work and applied it to that situation. You look out for those who matter to you."

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"It wasn't like I was thinking about it. I wanted James to take the job so I could have him around for me."

"I'm sure that's part of it…but you also wanted something for him, didn't you? Is it easier for you to make the things you do to help people sound selfish?"

"It's not easier, it's truthful. My motives _are_ selfish."

"So James didn't stand to benefit from the change?"

"He did. That was convenient because it benefitted me."

"When you took Lisa to the music festival because you wanted to express gratitude…thank her for what she had done for you? Wasn't that for her?"

"Or because I like music."

"The reason you watched her daughter so she could sleep?"

He hesitated a bit longer, "To stay on her good side because things are more fun on her good side."

"And the reason why you wanted to save Amber at the risk of your own life?"

"I want to solve every case."

"If you're dead, you won't be around to solve it. That is a lie of omission. I believe it is true that you want to solve every case. I don't believe that is why Amber was so personal for you."

"I wanted Wilson to not be mad at me."

"Another partial truth."

"I wanted him to be happy because a happy Wilson is good for me."

Manly smiled sadly, he was growing to hate that expression. She added, "You wanted him to be happy. That is also true. How did you feel about her when they were dating? Refresh me."

House dug his fingers into his forehead, "I didn't like her being around so much."

"Why?"

"She was devouring all of his free time. Another example of me being…umm…_selfish_."

"If that's true, what did you have to gain by her remaining alive? Would she not have continued to take up his time? After a tragedy like that they may have grown closer…decided to marry? That's not an uncommon response to the fear of losing someone."

House looked for an answer for a minute, and finally said, "I almost lost him completely."

"I'm sure. But your selfish argument here does not work. You said you wanted her gone, but then you tried so hard to save her life. Also, some small part of you might have wanted to atone for the role that you played in her death. Or, more likely, prove that it wasn't your intention for ill to fall upon her."

"Of course I didn't want _ill_ to fall upon her."

"But not for selfish reasons. Why is it so important for you that your motives appear selfish?"

"Because they are. _You_ think I'm responsible for her death," he accused.

"Responsible, no. But you did play a role. You were part of the many events that led to her death. But you can go back even further. You could say it's Wilson's fault for dating her…because if he hadn't been, she wouldn't have answered the call. You could say it's Wilson's fault for being your friend. Events in lives are not isolated bits of occurrence. They're connected. However, your decisions were part of what led to her death. You were drinking to excess…that casts a certain pall over it. Had you called to get Wilson to help you treat a six year-old child who had been in an accident or to help a pregnant woman in labor, it wouldn't have seemed quite so bad. Your motives for calling effect overall perception."

"I didn't want her to die. That wasn't my _intention_."

"So your recent lie of omission to Lisa and Amber's death have something in common. You feel they should both be considered in light of what your intentions were. You didn't lie to hurt Lisa. You didn't call so that Amber would die."

"Some events are blameless."

"Agreed. So what was your intention or motivation when you tried to save Amber's life?"

"I didn't want to hurt Wilson. I wanted to fix what happened. To diagnose her. And I failed. Well…I did diagnose her, but we couldn't cure her."

"So you do feel that you failed to save her?"

"She died. I'd say that's a pretty big indication that I failed to save her."

"You say that you like to solve the puzzles. You solved the puzzle, wasn't that enough?"

"Knowing the answer didn't stop Wilson from pushing me away, and it didn't make him feel any better."

"So you don't feel guilt for the crash?"

"I wasn't the one who hit the bus."

"Agreed. But if Wilson isn't making you feel guilty anymore, and Lisa doesn't think you are guilty, what is provoking this response that seems remarkably like guilt?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe not for the bus, but…"

"Because I didn't save her?" he asked, his head shaking since he was a little stunned at the suggestion.

"You seem to identify strongly with your abilities as a diagnostician."

"Yea. It's what I do. It's why people talk to me, employ me, tolerate me. If I didn't have that skill… It's my redeeming quality."

"So Lisa went to the music festival with you in case there was a person with an undiagnosed ailment there? She stayed here with you in case she suddenly fell ill? Or she has willingly allowed you in her daughter's life in case the little girl is suddenly near death?"

"I told you…Cuddy's a little crazy."

"What about Wilson? He's your friend. Even after what happened with Amber, you somehow mended that friendship."

"He's also a little crazy. You don't know him."

"True. What about James? He likes you."

"He's even crazier than the rest of us."

"James is not crazy. Guilt ridden, complex, lonely…but not crazy. Your ability to solve cases may have _some_ influence, but it does not define those relationships. What was your reaction when Wilson thought you had conducted an affair with his girlfriend?"

"I denied it."

"Because it wasn't true?"

"It wasn't true. I mean I thought it wasn't true even then. I wasn't sure initially."

"How did you feel about the fact that he suspected you?"

"I felt…like I had to make sure it wasn't true."

"Were you concerned? Is that something you would do? Do you have a history of having sex with people your friends are dating?"

"I have a _history_ of having sex with hookers."

Manly nodded without judgment, "Amber wasn't a prostitute, was she?"

"No, she wasn't."

"So if, during the years that Wilson knew you, you had one long term relationship several years earlier, but otherwise tended to hire prostitutes to meet your sexual needs. Why would he be concerned?"

"Because I didn't like her dating him."

"I understand that, but why does that mean you would have sex with her. Why would he think that?"

"Because…in the past I have tried to expose certain truths about people."

Manly suddenly seemed to understand and she questioned, "So you had sex with the women your friends were dating to…show them what kinds of women they were dating?"

"Well…not really sex. More like…messed around."

"Did Wilson know that?"

"Yea."

"Before he dated Amber?" Manly clarified.

"Yea."

"How did he take that?"

"It was one of the few things I've told him that I think really bothered him in the pre-Amber era. What he didn't acknowledge was that I was trying to prevent a disastrous relationship when I did that. Right or wrong, I was helping a friend."

"As flawed as your approach may have been, the desire to help a friend is also evidence of a _lack_ of selfishness. Anyway, Wilson already knew of the possibility that you would have sex with his girlfriend to prove that she was an unworthy choice?"

"I wouldn't have had sex with her."

"Fine…messed around? Is that a better description of what you would have done?"

"I wouldn't have done anything with her like that."

"Why?"

"I just wouldn't."

"Why not? I mean, fucking feels good right?" she asked, getting his attention.

He smirked, "Yea, fucking feels good."

"Or even…messing around, if you prefer. Oral sex…even her hand…would have felt good. Right?"

"Yea. There are a few exceptions, but even the crappy attempts usually feel good."

"Exactly my point. So why didn't you mess around with her?"

"I just didn't."

"So there were suspicions surrounding this whole circumstance on many levels. He thought it was possible that your intention, from the beginning, was about sabotaging his relationship."

"Yea."

"So if you are motivated by things that are purely selfish…you could have called her and had her come down to give you ride. You could have had sex with her before you got the ride you wanted…or, even better, you could have taken a compromising picture of her with you. You could have had your fun and had proof of her infidelity to ruin their relationship. Did you do that, because that's a two-fer? A selfish man's dream."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it would have…he would have been really…he liked her," House fumbled.

"Your behavior demonstrates that you are _not_ thoughtlessly selfish. That record is played out. I think you're comfortable with having needs and often with having them met, but you aren't selfishly devoid of integrity. You have your own sense of ethics, even if it doesn't always match traditional ones. But still you prefer that people see you as someone heartless and selfish."

"I'm pretty fucking selfish."

"Or it's easier to act that way to protect yourself, keep expectations low. For you, truth is about demonstration…action…and, in the case of Amber or some lies, the intentions behind those actions. The external factors and influences, and the results of actual occurrences don't impact intention. I think you feel guilty that you didn't save her. Had you been able to save her, it would have been proof that there was no secret fooling around between you and Amber. You could have proven that your intention was not for her to die…you put your own life on the line to prove that. It was important to you. You would have proven that your friend's happiness…was more important than your own. You also, on some level, feel that people keep you around because of your diagnosing abilities…and that time your abilities didn't help."

"In the end…no matter what, she died."

"So you do carry a sense of guilt for what happened. For the end result not the actual accident. You feel guilty that you couldn't diagnose your way out of that situation."

"It's what I do. I diagnose and people live. When people who are incurable are cured, most of the anger from their loved ones that may be directed at me tends to fade."

"No doctor saves lives that are so near death every single time."

"I solve most of them," he said as he stood when the hour was up.

"Are you alright to drive home?"

House walked to the door, answering flippantly, "Yea, of course. This is history, I'm over it. You were the one who wanted to know about it."

"I was."

"I can't change what happened," he said more defensively. "There's _nothing_ I can do to make it turn out any differently."

"I know, Gregory, I'm not asking you to change the past."

"Then what do you want, you want some epiphany? Some moment where I fucking cry and say I'm sorry and I'll never do it again?"

"I don't want any of those things."

"What _do_ you want?" he continued with frustration. "What's the goal?"

"What do _you_ want? I wanted your honesty. You offered that to me. My wishes are, at this time, fulfilled."

"A lot of fucking good it does to talk about it."

"We talk to gain understand. To expose truths. To accept the past. I'm not asking you to try to change it. I'm asking you to accept it. To forgive yourself for _all_ of it."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"I…don't think that's what you really believe."

House huffed angrily, his response a bit too strong for the circumstance, and he went to the door, muttering, "See ya, doc," before he left her office.

Manly sat at her desk, hoping for a few moments that House would return. When it seemed clear that he wasn't coming back, she went to the door to lock it, and saw House sitting on the small cement landing on the other side. Walking out, she said, "This is one of the advantages of living out here in Nowhere-ville. I love the nights. I love the quiet, the animals, the unmuted stars. In about another hour or two, it will be completely dark."

House remained silently, gazing softly ahead.

Manly stood in front of him, hands resting in the pockets of her sweater, "If you want to stay to see it, you're welcomed to. You can sit out here, think. It's up to you."

House pulled himself from the ground, fighting the weakness of his leg that always existed. He rubbed his thigh, trying to sooth the muscle so he could move more freely. "I think…I'm going to go home."

"OK. The offer stands," she answered as she touched the door knob, preparing to return to her office.

He was right in front of his car, nearly able to escape when he turned to Manly, "I wish I never made that call. If it was actually possible, I would not make that decision again. I don't regret going out, I don't regret getting drunk. Hell, I don't even regret getting on the bus. I belonged there. I played the night over more times than I care to admit, but I did make that call. The bus was hit. Amber voluntarily put the amantadine in her body. It's just what happened. There is no changing it now. I don't even know what the point is in admitting that."

Manly faced him, leaning against the door to her office and giving him a moment with his thoughts before she answered, "Intentions and demonstration matter. How you feel about what happened does not change the outcome. It doesn't alter reality. But your feelings…matter. They are part of you as a person. Accept any role you may have played, both the good and the bad. You know you did not _want _to hurt anyone. I'm not asking you to change it, just acknowledge the entire spectrum of feelings that you have in regard to this. Stop defending your actions in your mind. You say you aren't responsible…but the only person who is still accusing you…is you."

"I'm not…" he began but then seemed to find some truth in her words.

"Acknowledge, accept, learn and apply what's learned as you go forward."

House bobbed his head, "Goodnight," he whispered before he got in his car.

* * *

During the drive home, his mind spun as he worked through their discussion. He pulled up outside of his apartment, prepared to spend the entire night alone for the first time since Cuddy found him at Kutner's. He limped into his apartment, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane. He picked up his bottle of scotch and a tumbler, and resigned himself to spending a night forgetting. Walking around the sofa, he placed the scotch on the coffee table and he looked down at the spot he had so often occupied. Then he wondered, just for a second, about the fact that he couldn't change what happened, whether he actually wanted to fix the past or drink until he could no longer think, neither changed the past, although they could change the future.

He picked up his phone, he wasn't even sure at first why he dialed Cuddy's number. She answered, "Hey," in a welcoming, friendly tone that suddenly made him want to be where she was.

Prepared to tell her that he needed the night in his apartment, he shifted mid-thought. "We should live together. Don't you think?" he asked. He could hear her stop moving.

"We practically do now."

"Not practically. Actually. I want us to actually live together. I want you saying 'home' and me saying 'home' to mean the same place."

"Are you OK?"

"Yea. Is this your way of avoiding the question?"

"No, no. Not at all. I'm just trying to figure out why you're calling to tell me this instead of standing here next to me, telling me in person."

"I just realized it and when I realized it, I said it."

"Get your ass over here. Come home," she ordered lightly.

"Does that mean 'yea'?" he asked as he decided to go to his car.

"Are you going to try to talk me out of it?" she laughed.

"No."

"Good. Are you coming home or not?"

* * *

When he walked in the door, she could see how worn he looked. "What happened?" Cuddy asked immediately. "What's going on?"

"Hanging out with your past sometimes sucks," he said while he pulled her close.

"Tell me what happened with Manly."

Cuddy's eyes, full of questions, concerns and worry, stared into him.

"I don't want to talk about it tonight," he said, not angrily, but wearily.

"Please, just tell me what happened," she requested, desperate for the truth and then remembering her own promise. "You don't want to talk about it or lie…so you'd rather not say anything about it?"

He nodded, "Letting go of your questions is easier said than done, isn't it?"

Pinching her lips tightly while she fought the urge to dig for information, she placed her palm on his chest and said, "I understand."

"What I do want to talk about…is whether or not you want to move in together."

"You won't mind living with a child?"

"Are you bringing _her_?" he teased tiredly. "It's fine, Cuddy."

"Yea. I want to." She took him to their room and they began undressing each other casually because it seemed the only possible next step. "I'd like somewhere with an office, and maybe a yard. Something not too far from work or too close. There's so much to consider. Where do you want to live? Did you mean here or somewhere else?" she asked while she climbed into bed, pulling him along with her. "What do you want in a place?"

"I need room for a piano. And some space for your ass. I guess enough room for the rest of you too," he answered while his hands moved all over her skin.

She smiled when he sort of shivered against her. "Are we really going to do this? This is what you want?" she breathed out heavily. "We can think about it."

"No more thinking. I'm _thinked_ out," he answered while their bodies skimmed against each other, "and it's what I want."

Flirty words and suggestions were laced throughout their foreplay while they allowed double entendre to mask deeper feelings. There were words about wants and needs, connections and desires, while fingers, hands and mouths roamed. He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She was over him, but he guided her, moving her however he chose. When he tired of the buildup and teasing and foreplay, he pulled her body down on his, sliding fully into her while they moaned their relief in unison. They'd been fooling around, teetering on the edge of their need, but when their bodies met and the sounds of their mutual moan faded into the past, she opened her eyes to look down to find the reason for his inaction, and she saw his contented near-smile, something startlingly affectionate. He pulled her hips closer to him, allowing almost motionless shifts of their bodies that steadily built to a more consistent and satisfying rhythm. Even after being together a short time, they were already more familiar, experiencing the foreign feeling of a connection between partners who were less mysterious and more known.


	22. The Wedding

_A/N- Thank you to everyone who has checked this story out. Thanks also to everyone who has reviewed since the last chapter: housebound, Celeste, jkarr, IHouseHouseCuddy, OldSFfan, BabalooBlue, linda12344, JLCH, jaybe61, freeasabird14, Kiwiclare, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, dmarchl21, Boo's House, chebelle, ikissedtheLaurie, JM, BJAllen815, LapizSilkwood, LoveMyHouse, Suzieqlondon, newsession, Mon Fogel and grouchysnarky._

_This is the last chapter of this story. I promised I would write the collection of short stories from the Too Lost universe to fill in the gaps for some of the missing or ambiguous pieces. That will still be done as a series of short stories in one fic. Hopefully that will be interesting enough. I'll update it occasionally while I write other stories._

_I'm also working on a short post-show fic and I have a few really good prompts for one shots that readers have given me. I don't update as much as I used to, but I think I still have a few ideas to kick around._

* * *

-The Wedding-

House told Cuddy several times that he was going to Chase and Cameron's wedding in the form of suggestions that sounded like jokes or threats, but he never said anything in a way that sounded sincere. When Cuddy got out of the shower on the day of the wedding, House was already gone. She assumed that he was doing physical therapy or maybe he went to the hospital to check on a patient. It was not at all strange for him to vanish for short times.

When she was nearly done dressing, she found him in the doorway to the bedroom, pulling two rumpled jackets from his backpack. Realizing that he must have ridden his motorcycle to his apartment to pick them up, she gaped while she pondered her response. He asked as he extended his arms out, a jacket in each hand, "Which one?"

"You're going to the wedding?" she asked with almost complete disbelief.

"I said I was. Repeatedly."

"I thought you were joking."

"If you don't want me to go, just say so."

"I didn't say that."

"I was only going for you anyway. I'll just stay here."

"Don't blame going to this wedding on me," she cautioned. "I want you to go, but I told you that you didn't have to go. If you go, it's _your_ choice. I don't want to hear for the next twenty years about how I forced you to go to this wedding."

He responded, half smirking, "You're worried that I'm gonna steal the spotlight, aren't you? I don't go to many of these things, but I know I'm not supposed to upstage the bride."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room, "Dumbass," she said while she stood him in front of the full length mirror. Stepping back, she looked him over and said, "You look good."

"I always look good."

"Of course you do."

"Which?" he asked, a jacket still in each hand.

"The grey one is less wrinkled."

"Blue it is," House announced happily while he put the jacket on and then waited for her response.

"I'm not biting," she commented, and, anticipating some sort of lewd comment in return, continued, "I'm not taking the bait. Wear what you want."

He looked at the grey jacket and Cuddy suspiciously.

"There is no trap," she added, "no test or top secret evaluation based on your choice."

"Sure there is. There always is."

"I have to keep you in line at work…I want to pick my battles at home."

"Did you and your shrink discuss this?" he asked with clear interest.

Cuddy glanced over, smiling, "It's for the best. I don't want to be your mother, so I'm not going to act like your mother."

"But Mooom," he whined.

She attempted a scowl while she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, shouting when she was able, "How you dress is not a reflection on me…it's a reflection on you."

When she came out, he had his fly down, shirt poking through the opening in his jeans, his jacket only on one arm, and he was wearing two different colored sneakers. He scratched his chest boorishly and blurted, "Ready?"

Her laugh was irrepressible even while she admonished, "You're such a jerk. I'm trying so hard not to smother or control at home…the very things you like to accuse me of doing…and you fight me every single step of the way. I don't think you know what you want."

"I know what I want. You can still smother a little. You don't have to give it up completely or I won't recognize you," he said, half joking, but pointing at his clothing.

Her voice was a laugh, a cry and a slight whine all at the same time, "You are _so_ difficult sometimes."

"It is one of my most endearing qualities."

"Sometimes," she shrugged, stepping closer and helping him to fix his jacket and smooth out his shirt.

"If I didn't want a woman who is bossy and controlling, I picked the wrong woman," he answered, watching her with contented amusement.

Gaping with offense, she responded sarcastically, "Bossy and controlling…how sweet."

"I like control freak Cuddy. She's a little controlling…a little freaky…"

"She's not going anywhere, but I'm trying to tone it down in our personal life, since I obviously can't give you an inch of freedom at work without you taking advantage of every single opening. But I'm making very specific efforts to tone it down here at home, and you push me to step right back up."

"I know. I like bothering you. You smother, I bother. You control, I annoy. You order, I disorder."

She opened the button on his jeans and pulled his shirt free, "I'll let you fix the rest," she explained.

"I need you to tuck it in for me."

"You do _not_ tuck in your shirts."

"But, for a wedding, _you_ think I should."

"Well, as crafty and well-veiled as this attempt to get me to stick my hand in your jeans is…I'm not falling for it. We're going to be late."

"I understand that lateness is fashionable in some circles."

"But for a wedding, it's just considered rude," she answered, whooshing past him to finish getting ready, "because I can already hear it…I'll fix your shirt in a way that you will find inexplicably arousing-"

"Your hand in my pants is never _inexplicably_ arousing," he interrupted.

Ignoring him, she continued, "and you'll accuse me of being a tease who turned you on intentionally-"

"If you really knew me _that_ well," he interrupted again, "you'd know that all of this talk about turning me on is already turning me on."

"Of course it does…if my intention is to _not_ turn you on, you'd be even _more_ turned on because nearly every fiber of your being is defiant."

"I don't like to thoughtlessly take direction."

"You don't like to take direction thought_fully _either."

"Besides, it's not my generally defiant nature that is making me hot. You've been doing a teasing House routine for as long as you've been trying to control me. It's like we're role playing one of the defining aspects of our careers."

She was standing in front of the dresser as she finished getting ready. Looking over her shoulder at him, teetering on the edge between amused and irritated, she corrected, "I am _not _a tease."

He approached, watching her get ready. "Not anymore," he whispered into her ear as he grabbed her hips and pulled her back against him.

"We can't."

"You just said you are _not _a tease."

Chuckling lowly, she answered, "We can't because we need to leave in a half an hour."

"I can work with that," he answered while he pulled her hair away from her neck and shoulder, and moved his lips along the exposed skin.

"We can't wake up Rachel."

"I'm not loud," he smirked, his hands surrounding her hips before sliding along the front of her thighs, "control yourself a little."

She scowled at him in the mirror in front of them, prompting his smug expression. His fingers reached for the bottom of her dress, looser than her normal work attire, and he groaned when he had her clothing up over her hips and could see her lower body, his view obstructed only by her tiny, lacy panties. His one arm wrapped around her body, holding her against him, the fingers of his other hand sneaking beneath the lace to cover her sex. "Take those off for me," he ordered, "my hands are full."

Still partially annoyed, she was surrendering to him anyway, caving to the feeling of his hands and the warmth of his body behind her. Her fingers glided down her waist and over her hips, but just before she reached the top of her panties, her hands disobediently went to his hips. With a firm grip she held him still, grinding back against him to remind him that she wasn't ever entirely submissive. Her focus then returned to removing her panties, once he was properly reminded, and she pushed the flimsy garment down her legs until it could fall the remainder of the way on its own.

Forgetting the time limitations for a moment, he was watching her body in the mirror, watching the way she looked while his hand moved intimately against her. She spun in his arms when it was obvious that he was getting lost. She hopped up on the dresser, her tongue tickling between his lips for just a second when she kissed him. "Time," she reminded, while her hands went to the front of his jeans.

He was still unzipped from when he was provoking her earlier, so she opened the button and reached into his boxers. "Time," he almost taunted back after a few moments, shoving his boxers and jeans out of the way, and taking her hands and moving them behind her back.

One of his hands kept hers in place while he directed her to the edge of the dresser and pulled her body toward him. He pushed into her heat abruptly, listening with satisfaction as she gasped and her entire body responded to his presence. His hands covered both of her hands again, moving her so that her palms were flat against her own butt. His fingers were laced between hers so he could feel her firm ass as he guided her body toward him. Seconds later, they were roughly fucking on the edge of the dresser with the often present combination of thick arousal, deep affection, playful competition and mild annoyance.

Their mouths met as their pants receded, kissing with an almost sleepy tenderness as their tension faded. She seemed to recover much more quickly than he did, pulling his boxers up over his hips for him, followed by his jeans and whispering confidently, "You still want me to tuck that shirt in for you?"

* * *

Just over an hour later, they were sitting in chairs at Chase and Cameron's outdoor wedding. Even though people had grown accustomed to seeing Cuddy and House working together, fighting and bartering through their days, there were still a number of eyes on them when they arrived at the wedding in the same car and emerged with Rachel.

The wedding ceremony itself seemed like it was going to be short, House thought as he pondered how much he really did hate weddings. Rachel was seated on Cuddy's lap, babbling and cooing throughout the ceremony. House was daydreaming when he felt a small hand slapping his arm. Looking over, he saw Rachel smiling up at him and babbling in a way that sounded sort of like the baby's own version of, "Hey."

He tried to ignore her attempt to get his attention for a moment, because he guessed that she'd quickly become distracted by something else around her, but she started to fuss. Cameron and Chase started to exchange their vows, and Cuddy stood to take Rachel away from the ceremony so it wouldn't be disrupted. Realizing what she was doing, House quickly volunteered.

He had disliked all of the attention people paid him when he first returned from Stillwater. They all wanted to see if he had changed. He and Cuddy quickly put to rest any fears that they would be calling each other sickening pet names in the corridors or softening their adversarial edge over things at work. After a few almost immediate demonstrations that very little had changed about their working relationship, the talk settled, as did the suspicious glances.

But then there was Rachel. People still seemed curious about what his relationship with the child would be like. He wasn't sure how to demonstrate that he would never be the guy standing proudly over a 'daddy's little girl,' guiding her lovingly through life. He was _House_ and nothing would change that. Of course, he was never the kind of man who would let what people thought govern his actions either. When the baby started to gripe, it was the perfect time to use his growing friendship with the kid to get him out of a situation that was boring as hell.

After the ceremony, Cuddy mingled in the crowd for a while and went through the greeting line to offer her congratulations to the couple. After she hugged Chase, he asked, "Where's your daughter?"

"She's with House. She was getting fussy and I didn't want to ruin your beautiful ceremony."

Chase leaned his head forward with the most quizzical expression Cuddy had ever seen on his face. "She's with House? Doing what?"

"Who knows," Cuddy replied with an almost hidden smile.

After making her way through the gathered guests, she saw the missing pair situated near the dining tables. House already had a plate of food that Cuddy was certain he was not supposed to have. The stolen food was quickly forgotten as she approached and saw what he was doing.

Rachel was on his coat, which he had taken off and spread on the ground for her. He was trying to explain to her how to crawl while the baby rocked and tried to figure out what to do next. As Cuddy came closer, she could hear him say, "You can't possibly overestimate the usefulness of mobility. It's going to open up a whole new array of possibilities…getting your own toys, changing the channel on the TV, more independent snacking...terrifying your mother," he added as he looked up at Cuddy. "We're training," he explained, and looked down at the child, adding, "we will make you the second greatest lacrosse player of all time."

The girl erupted in giggles as Cuddy sat on the edge of the jacket.

"Can you explain to your kid the reasons why there is nothing funny about seeking perfection in the greatest sport of all time?" House added, watching the girl laugh again.

"Lacrosse?" Cuddy asked with a hint of disapproval. "You want her to play lacrosse?"

"Don't waste all of this potential on something lame…like tennis."

"We could let _her_ choose a few _years _from now."

"I don't want her to fall victim to peers. She needs guidance. And who better to guide?"

Rachel rolled onto her back and he held his fingers out for her to grab so she could sit up. "Her core work is improving," he commented, "she'll be the only kid in preschool with six-pack abs and the ability to take out her competition with a long stick."

"What happened to her dress?" Cuddy asked.

"Ditched it. You can't play dressed in gear that stuffy."

"Getting a little soft, aren't you, House?" Foreman asked as he walked over to them.

"Try that theory on Monday," House replied, "with Chase and Cameron gone, you'll have to do all of the testing. I have this feeling that there is going to be a lot of scoping, maybe some reaching and scraping…that's all you. Thirteen and Taub really deserve a break."

As soon as House wasn't paying attention to her, Rachel started trying to capture his interest. "She loves attention," Foreman smugly added, as he walked away, "just like daddy."

"Why is everyone so fascinated by the fact that your kid and I don't hate each other? Can't we just be friends without everyone having to analyze it?" House asked while he continued helping Rachel with her workout.

"They think it's a side they don't usually see. They're curious. They don't realize that she's pretty much another fellow who doesn't have a medical degree."

"Yet."

"Yet."

Rachel used her hands to try to pull up, she was working desperately to bring herself to a standing position. The baby nearly growled her unhappiness when she failed, so he held his fingers out so she could try again. "Maybe I'll just introduce her as my newest team member. Define the relationship for the idiots who are gawking. They should know, I'm not anyone's father figure."

"As a single mom, I hate that phrase. Like there's some…perfect model of benevolent manliness who can provide everything that I somehow fail to provide simply because I'm a woman. Probably sabotages lots of single mothers when they try dating…every guy they smile at feels like he's being screened to be the person who will provide this all-important influence."

They were silent for a few minutes, watching as Rachel learned more each moment about how her body worked and the things she could do to move independently.

"It's too bad, isn't it?" Cuddy asked. "You are a self-proclaimed non-father figure, but she is crazy about you. But then I already said I'm not fond of the whole 'father figure' paradigm. I'm just looking for someone who likes her. Somebody who might want to teach her things and hang out. Be there. Sit next to me at important events. At the same time I have to consider myself. I don't want a father, I want a man. I want someone I'm attracted to, who I enjoy spending time with…someone interesting and…_exciting_."

Wilson walked by, "Come on, reception's starting."

Cuddy smiled at House as she stood and automatically extended a hand to offer him leverage.

"Let's go," House said once he was on his feet, "I'm done hanging out and teaching your kid stuff for the day, so I guess I'll sit next to you during this important event in that…exciting, attractive man way that I do."

Cuddy lifted Rachel from the ground and shook off his grass and dirt covered jacket, "I'd like that."


End file.
